The Left Leg
by Taipan Kiryu
Summary: G1. An unfortunate incident during a battle merges Wildrider and Air Raid with the wrong Gestalt. Will the Stunticons and the Aerialbots manage to adapt to their new teammates or will they tear them apart in the process? Life is one ironic slagger.
1. Chapter 1

_New fic!_

_Yeah, I know that I have many ongoing fics, and I actually wasn't planning to post this one until I finished a couple of my other stories, but the... erm, 'friendly' persuasion from my accomplice and beta reader iratepirate, who kidnapped my teddy bear and threatened to decapitate him if I didn't post this ASAP, finally convinced me._

_Another culprit is Alaskan Olive, who sent me a poltergeist in a bottle and is suspiciously related with my teddy bear's abduction… Beware girls, that bear is a sociopath. _

_But speaking seriously, I want to thank them for giving me the slight kick in the aft to post this. I also want to thank QoS, whose stories made me understand and love the Stunticons.  
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**The Left Leg**

**Written by Taipan Kiryu**

Summary: An unfortunate incident during a battle merges Wildrider and Air Raid with the wrong Gestalt. Will the Stunticons and the Aerialbots manage to adapt to their new teammates or will they tear them apart in the process? Life is one ironic slagger.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**The bad merge**

Nobody knew how a series of particularly unfortunate events were unleashed. It just happened. Expected or unexpected, fatality, the eternal killjoy, always found a way to detonate. Perhaps Dead End was right when he said that everything, absolutely everything, was pointless; rust would happen more sooner than later and nobody would be able to avoid it.

It was his fault, everything had been his fault; that was another certainty that Breakdown had reached on his own, without the need of a thousand fingers pointing at him or a zillion optics flaming his guilty self with accusative glares.

As he saw the ball of light engulfing Wildrider, Breakdown had time to realize that perhaps he was seeing the living form of his teammate for the last time. There was somebody else with Wildrider, one of the Aerialbots… but Breakdown couldn't have cared less.

The unmistakable call of Menasor fell upon him. But even as his conscience submitted to the giant frame and became one with his collective mind, he had an extra astro second of individuality to realize that Wildrider wasn't following. He remained there, on the ground, his body shaken by countless volts as he struggled to join his teammates and complete the gestalt merge that was their reason to live.

When Wildrider finally succeeded, it wasn't Breakdown who realized what had happened. Menasor did.

And yet, it was Breakdown who reminded himself that everything had a beginning… and a culprit.

* * *

_Six hours earlier._

The Nemesis halls were not racetracks.

That was one rule that the Stunticons had been told ever since their fist arrival to the Decepticon ship that was meant to be their home.

That was one rule that had never entered their processors, especially the ones of Drag Strip and Wildrider, whose speedometers seemed to have a mind of their own, always in direct relationship with Motormaster's location. The further the leader was, the faster the subordinates were.

That was another one of Dead End's theories, although perhaps Breakdown would have been able to come up with it by himself… or perhaps not. Breakdown was sure that his processor wasn't sharp enough and that was as far as he wanted to think about the matter.

But when a big shadow towered him from behind his seat and made him realize how cold the Stunticons' Rec Room actually was, he wished he would have cared for the damn theory for once in his life…

He didn't dare look up, too afraid to face Motormaster's optics. But when Motormaster didn't announce his presence with a punch to the head, but instead grabbed the remote control and calmly turned the big monitor off, Breakdown's fear reached a level of panic.

Motormaster was angry.

Motormaster was _very _angry.

And Breakdown would pay the price.

"Where's Dead End?" Motormaster roughly asked.

Breakdown cringed and tried to merge with his seat before turning around to face his leader, although he kept his gaze low. _Please don't stare at me, please don't stare… _"I-in the Refueling Room… He went to get our Energon rations."

Breakdown could feel Motormaster's optics narrowing, always fixated on him. "He did? And why didn't you go to get yours by yourself? Don't you have two fragging legs?"

Breakdown took a discreet look downwards. Yes, he did have legs… at least he still had them for now.

"Let me guess," Motormaster continued, saving and condemning Breakdown at the same time. "You didn't want to miss some stupid human movie you were watching, so Dead End offered to deliver your Energon ration here as if he were some slagging drone."

Breakdown started to shiver. It was true, all except the slagging drone part. Dead End had offered because of simple team comradeship, but that was something that Motormaster would never understand, not to mention that he would react violently toward any explanation on the matter.

"You won't refuel today," Motormaster said, crushing the remote control and thus ending an argument in which he would receive no opposition. Breakdown felt relieved, although that didn't mean he would manage to stay away from Motormaster's fists. "And you won't refuel tomorrow either if you don't tell me whose tire marks those are that are scattered all over Megatron's fragging throne!"

So that was the reason why Motormaster was looking for Dead End… Cold streams of lubricant started to run through Breakdown's core. Did Motormaster know those tire marks were his? He was doomed, he was so doomed… It all had been an accident, an ugly and unfortunate accident. Drag Strip had told him that some human TV network would broadcast a movie in which all humans suddenly became blind and there was nobody left to stare at them, so he had hurried more than usual in a zone of the Nemesis in which racing was absolutely forbidden. And he had found the throne in his way – fortunately not occupied – and had impacted it at 180 miles per hour. It was such a disgrace that those thrones came without a force field of their own.

Motormaster grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up without any effort. Paralyzed by fear, Breakdown couldn't even cringe.

"Two suspects, one culprit," Motormaster growled. "Spit the name."

All that Breakdown could think was how much he would have liked to have Dead End there. Beatings were a little less painful if his closest teammate was present… so were confessions.

He was about to stutter his own name when the two suspects arrived at the beauty contest. In a feast of revving engines and brakes being sent to the Pit, Drag Strip and Wildrider penetrated the entrance at almost 200 miles per hour and crashed against the back wall, challenging the resistance of their force shields perhaps a little too much.

Transformation cogs were set in motion again, limbs started to appear beneath the debris and groans turned into laughs and insults as Wildrider and Drag Strip started to discuss who had won.

Motormaster turned his ferocious glare towards the newcomers for a moment before stabbing Breakdown again with his brutal purple optics.

Breakdown didn't hesitate. "Wildrider," he said, pointing a trembling finger towards his smirking teammate, who obviously didn't know what the hell was happening. "Wildrider did it."

* * *

"_Air Raid, get back to formation right now!" _Silverbolt cried through the comm link for the third time as he dodged a round of laser fire coming from beneath.

A quick glance downwards confirmed in his mind that he had no intentions to engage Motormaster in close combat. Not only was the Stunticon stronger, but such an encounter would have been totally pointless at that moment of the battle. The Aerialbots had the upper hand, and for once it wasn't because of the advantages of being supersonic fliers. The Stunticons had seemed rather strange since the beginning, almost… divided. Silverbolt knew his enemies enough to realize that something was wrong.

But wrong for the Stunticons was good for the Aerialbots. Silverbolt wasn't fond of exploiting his enemies' weakness, but he wasn't going to waste an advantage that could lead his team to victory. He noticed the damage on Wildrider's frame and his slower speed, signaling that he had received serious physical punishment before the battle, probably delivered by his own leader.

So the erratic link was being the weak link… If anything, Wildrider was unpredictable and a permanent headache for those forced to confront him several times a month, but his current injuries made him an ideal target despite his dangerous lunacy… Air Raid must have noticed it too, because he dedicated his efforts to isolating and taking the insane Stunticon off of the road.

The heat of the battle made Silverbolt forget about his teammate's personal quest for a while, but when the need to form Superion became urgent and the presence of Air Raid was requested, all Silverbolt found was a bizarre view of Wildrider embedded on Air Raid's nosecone at the bottom of the ravine.

Silverbolt couldn't wait longer and initiated the merging process. Superion would have to do without his left leg until Air Raid managed to get rid of the Stunticon. In the meantime, there was a battle to win.

But Motormaster had a merging on his mind as well, because he transformed into the massive frame of Menasor as three servos attached to him.

Limping toward the enemy was out of the question, so Superion subspaced his electrostatic discharger rifle and greeted Menasor with a blast of 150,000 volts of electricity. But the Decepticon Super Robot was ready and contained the attack with his sword, producing a massive amount of energy in response. The result was the creation of a gigantic sphere of unstable energy threatening to vaporize everything around, giant robots included.

Superion realized the danger and the fact that his enemy wouldn't give a slag about the matter, so everything depended on him. With the need of his missing limb still aching, he decreased the intensity of the blast and tried to avert the sphere of energy.

It was one of those cases in which the result turned out to be worse. Like a magnet, the energy headed toward Wildrider and Air Raid, already in their bipedal forms and exchanging punches on the ground. They didn't see the danger coming, but they definitely felt it, as both were impacted by the blast and propelled toward the limping Superion and Menasor, two giants unconsciously calling for a leg.

And a leg was what they got.

The Gestalt bond was wise.

And the bond found its way.

* * *

The first thing that Air Raid felt besides the pain was guilt. Coming from the Gestalt bond, of course, because he personally had never experienced such a feeling before and certainly never would.

But who was feeling guilty? Fireflight? They had had an argument in the morning due to an almost fatal crash during flying practice, but not so serious as to actually be worth feeling some bad ole guilt in the processor… Although maybe that was the way it should be; Air Raid's flight pattern may had been kind of reckless, but he wasn't the one flying as if he had no slagging radars.

He took another peek into the Gestalt bond as he merged with Superion before focusing all his attention on kicking Menasor's aft. The origin of the guilt was clear. Breakdown was feeling it, because he had got Wildrider brutally beaten earlier that day…

_Breakdown?_

_What the frag…_

But that was not it. Drag Strip was angry and was particularly interested in keeping a distance from his lying scum teammate, Dead End was indifferent and Motormaster wanted to slag them all for poisoning Menasor with confusing mental patterns. _Yeah, right… what's new?_

But why the heck was Air Raid feeling all the Stunticons thoughts as if they were his own?

The answer came in the shape of pain. His knee hurt, Superion's knee hurt… Only that it wasn't Superion. It was Menasor who was groaning in shock and frustration.

And he was Menasor's leg.

He was Menasor's left leg and he had no clue why the slag that had happened. He was supposed to merge with Superion, not with Menasor! Air Raid wasn't an expert in Combiner technology and thus couldn't have explained it with big words, but such fatal mistake could not even contemplated, not in theory, not in practice. It was simply impossible, not even able to fit in the most bizarre nightmares department.

But it was only when he saw Superion grabbing the grey leg attached to his frame and desperately trying to snatch it away, that Air Raid realized that the problem was bigger than he had initially thought.

And then it happened again, the overwhelming presence dragging him backwards and forcing him to acknowledge the torrent of random thoughts he was refusing to accept.

"_Stunticons, separate!"_

He didn't know why, but he obeyed. He separated from Menasor the same way he would have separated from Superion, returning to his root mode and landing on his own confused feet.

He looked aside and saw Breakdown standing right next to him, the Stunticon's initial guilt replaced by complete astonishment. Air Raid couldn't have blamed him for that.

But his thoughts were forced in another direction when a brutal hand grabbed him around the neck and lifted him up. He found two purple optics flaming him.

"What did you do?" Motormaster roared, shaking him. "What the slag did you do?"

Normally Air Raid would have fought Motormaster. No matter how strong and big the Stunticon leader was, Air Raid never backed off from any opportunity to engage in some good ole Decepticon punching, but he was too baffled to even clench a fist.

"Let him go!" Silverbolt cried from the opposite side of the confusion. Skydive and Slingshot were pointing their guns at Wildrider, who was on his hands and knees between them and looked as if he had no clue of where he was and what he had been doing.

Motormaster shook Air Raid roughly and lifted him as high as he could. "You want him, you come and get him! Are you slagging blind or did you just choose to ignore what just happened? This flying piece of junk messed with our merging process! And he must have done it following _your _orders!"

Silverbolt blinked. "Excuse me? It was Wildrider who merged with Superion and almost made the entire Gestalt collapse! If this was your idea, Motormaster, you are even more twisted than I thought!"

"Why the slag would I be interested in wrecking Menasor, you imbecile?" Motormaster roared, subspacing his sword and preparing it to slice Aerialbot steel.

"Uugh… did you guys get the license plates…?" Wildrider mumbled as he sat on the ground and his optics started to focus. Instinctively he looked for the protection of his team, leaning against Slingshot's leg with a naturalness that made Air Raid want to shoot himself.

That gesture must have shocked the Stunticons, because even Dead End stared at the scene with curiosity. Breakdown and Drag Strip looked hurt, but it was Motormaster's boiling fury that caught Air Raid's attention. The hand around his neck increased its pressure, so hard that Air Raid couldn't avoid groaning in pain.

"Stop!" Silverbolt demanded. "Release Air Raid right now and you'll get Wildrider back. There's no need to continue this after what happened."

Why in the world did Air Raid know that Motormaster didn't like to be told what to do?

"_This _continues!" was the angry response. "Tell your glitches to lower their weapons or this junk with wings dies this instant!"

A useless request. Neither Skydive nor Slingshot seemed interest in blowing Wildrider to smithereens anymore, both staring shocked at the Stunticon still leaning on Slingshot's leg. Air Raid could tell that his teammate wasn't looking forward to maintaining that contact, but didn't dare to interrupt it either. What the slag was happening?

Silverbolt stepped forward. "I'm offering you a solution that benefits both of our teams. I have no intention to hurt Wildrider but I expect the same treatment in return. Don't push this harder, Motormaster, you don't want to see me angered!"

And anger was delivered, but not from the expected sources. The fact that such a giant disgrace wasn't noticed by either the Aerialbots or the Stunticons only confirmed how astonished they all still were. Air Raid was the only one who saw the huge leg an instant before it stepped on Dead End as if he were a terrestrial bug.

The impressive form of Bruticus emerged, shooting both enemies and allies alike.

Stunticons and Aerialbots scattered through the bottom of the ravine, shooting the common enemy. From his place in Motormaster's grip, Air Raid struggled and punched the Stunticon leader's face with all his strength, but he only gained a brutal blow with the head right into his face, shattering one of his optics and leaving him partially conscious.

Despite his pain, he managed to make his vocalizer function. "Let… go of me, you brutish pile of junk!"

Motormaster ignored him and fired an energy beam from his sword right into Bruticus' chest. "Drag Strip! Get Dead End!" he ordered.

Air Raid could also feel Motormaster's priority of retrieving Wildrider, although the Gestalt bond didn't seem to share his opinion. Concerning the unique link that united the Stunticons, the team was complete.

A very bad feeling started to run through Air Raid's fuel line like corrosive fuel. Was that happening in his team too? Were the Aerialbots complete… without him?"

No slagging way!

He tried to liberate himself again, but he was only a puppet in Motormaster's grip. Bruticus wasn't making things easier, not giving even the slightest chance to think. Being a Decepticon, he should have helped the Stunticons, but the most composed and cold tempered Decepticon Gestalt always seemed to have an agenda of his own, and any suspicion about a rivalry between Stunticons and Combaticons was clarified in that odd moment in which Air Raid could feel the hate pending between both Gestalts as tangible as Motormaster's hand crushing his throat components.

When Bruticus made his intentions of killing more than clear, Air Raid realized that retreat was imminent. He also realized that there would be no last minute rescue for him. He extended a shivering arm toward his distant teammates right before being knocked offline by a strong and possessive fist. The last thing he saw was Wildrider struggling with Slingshot and Skydive, who had grabbed his arms and were already in the air.

_To be continued._

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_I had the idea for this story a long while ago, before I knew that a wrong merge of this kind actually happened in Scramble City, in which Dead End attaches to Superion to confuse him. Therefore, my story won't have any relationship with Scramble City and wasn't inspired by it either._

_Energon goodies for anybody who knows which movie Breakdown was watching. Clues? It was adapted from a book from a recently deceased Nobel Prize winner, and the summary that Drag Strip used was partially mistaken._

_I hope you liked this first chapter. Your opinions are very welcome and encouraging :o)_


	2. Everybody out on bad behavior

_Thank you so much for welcoming this fic so warmly. I have a ton of things planned for this story, most of them pretty much figured it out in my mind, so you can count with fast updates._

_Some of the chapters will be entitled after Stunticons and Aerialbots quotes used during the G1 cartoon. Finest high grade for those of you who figure them out. This one doesn't count, it's too easy ;o)_

_Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate for revising this chapter in a matter of astro kliks. _

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**Chapter 2**

**Everybody out on bad behavior**

Megatron's fingers tapped the arm rests of his throne tensely as his glare alone seemed to tower the two robots standing before him. Beside Megatron, like an oversized shoulder-devil, Starscream was leaning a hand on the back of his Commander's throne, his head suspiciously close to Megatron's audio receptors, ready to pinpoint or suggest anything to the detriment of anyone who was not him.

"The Stunticons were _talking_ with the Aerialbots, Megatron, not engaging them in combat as any loyal Decepticon would have done, not to mention that they were directly defying your orders," Onslaught affirmed, as he had been doing for the last breem. "We acted following the Decepticon protocol. Betrayers must be dealt as such."

"Who are you calling a betrayer?" Motormaster roared, flaming Onslaught with a murderous glare and showing him one of his fists.

"Silence!" Megatron said firmly. "Fury stopped being your right, Motormaster. You abandoned one of your teammates on the battlefield and returned with another one almost terminated!"

"Fortunately, it was the fatalist," Starscream sneered. "I guess now Dead End will know if there's that famous light at the end of the tunnel or not."

Motormaster trembled with frustration, seeming eager to rip Starscream's head off his body, but finally lowered his glance. Anybody who knew the Stunticon leader could have read the disturbance behind his harsh face plates.

"Consider all your privileges cancelled, Onslaught, including the permission you requested to move permanently to your base in the Middle East," Megatron continued. "You will remain in the Nemesis until further notice."

That must have triggered something in the cold features of Onslaught, because his optic visor seemed to crack. "You have already authorized it, Megatron!"

"It's Lord Megatron to you, Onslaught!" Starscream said, on the edge of bursting into laughter while playing a game that only he found amusing. "I told you to get rid of these treacherous junk piles, Megatron. You'd still have your precious Stunticons complete if you would've listened—"

Megatron got up abruptly, making Starscream retreat with a powerful backhand to the Seeker's face plates. "You will speak when I tell you to speak, Starscream! As for you, Onslaught, my decision is made. Attack your Decepticon brethren without justification one more time and you'll remember your vorns in that detention center as the best of your life. Now get the slag out of my sight! I have more important things to deal with than the never-ending treachery of your team."

Onslaught frowned, obviously having something to say about matters of treachery, but decided better than to keep arguing.

"Right…" Starscream hissed as Onslaught left the Command Centre. "As if you could do without Bruticus now that you just lost Menasor." Starscream smirked and addressed Motormaster with one of his best arrogant looks. "It's an important defeat we suffered today, Megatron. Heads should roll, especially the ones of incompetent Gestalt leaders that cannot even keep their team together."

"Starscream, out," Megatron said bluntly, making it very clear that he wasn't in the mood to stand his annoying Second in Command anymore. Starscream hesitated, but must have realized the danger to his integrity because, for once, he kept his mouth shut and imitated Onslaught in his unceremonious exit.

"Is that true, Motormaster?" Megatron said once he was left alone with the leader of the Gestalt he had built with his own hands. "Are you ready to tell me that I should consider Menasor a casualty?"

"Never, Megatron!" Motormaster answered immediately. "Menasor is your most loyal Gestalt robot and will always be at your service."

"Is that so? How? With an accursed _Autobot _as his left leg? What the slag happened out there? And spare me the obvious facts! I already heard enough of them."

Motormaster hesitated before replying, as if he himself wasn't sure about what had happened. "Wildrider was severed from the Gestalt bond."

"_Severed…"_ Megatron repeated carefully, his optics narrowing. "And how could such a thing have happened?"

"Menasor was demanding the completion of the merge process and Wildrider wasn't in the condition to join us after receiving the combined attack of Superion and Menasor... Before I could realize what was happening, Wildrider had merged with the Aerialbots."

"And an Aerialbot had merged with you…" Megatron said, his words humming as much as his fusion canon. "I ask you again, Motormaster, how could such a thing have happened?"

Megatron had never beaten him, but Motormaster wondered if he was about to be physically disciplined for the first time in his life. He wasn't afraid, and he knew better than anyone else how useful a good beating could be when dealing with glitched subordinates, but the idea of disappointing the only mech he considered superior to him was proving to be devastating.

"I don't know," he replied with brutal sincerity. He had never been a liar and he wasn't going to start in the worst moment of his life.

Megatron seemed to be considering whether he should be shooting Motormaster or just beating him into slag. Finally, he turned around and gave his back to the Stunticon, a simple gesture that was much more painful than any beating.

"Where is the Autobot now?"

"Secured in a private chamber, Lord Megatron."

Megatron nodded slowly. "And you haven't terminated him because…?"

Motormaster hesitated again. That was another question for which he didn't have a clear answer. "The Gestalt bond replaced Wildrider with the Aerialbot. If I kill him, I'm afraid there won't be any way to reverse the damage."

"So, some filthy Autobot is part of your team now? Is that what you are telling me?"

"The Gestalt bond—"

"YES OR NO, MOTORMASTER?"

Disguising the truth was just another shape of lying; naturally he rejected it. "Yes, Megatron."

Megatron turned around and scrutinized Motormaster with a glare that would have sent any other Decepticon to his knees.

"You are to retrieve Wildrider. I want Menasor complete and the Autobot terminated. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Megatron. I swear I—"

"You are dismissed."

Motormaster tried to speak, but finally he bowed his head and followed the path that his shame dictated. For the first time in his life, he had the urge to beat himself until his armour wasn't recognizable anymore.

"I'll retrieve Wildrider and terminate the Autobot!" he said, turning around and making a military salute when he was about to leave the room. "All the Stunticons and Menasor will be at your service again, Lord Megatron."

It was as if Megatron hadn't heard him at all. Motormaster bowed his head once again. He couldn't remember how many times he had surrendered to that display of weakness that day, but he was certain that it was more than he had ever done so during all his life.

He wasn't there anymore when Megatron activated his comm link and summoned Scrapper.

* * *

Wildrider transformed into his vehicle mode for the umpteenth time in one hour. He had never done it so much in such a short lapse of time – at least that's what he remembered – but suddenly the sound had become so hypnotizing that he just couldn't stop doing it. Besides, there was nothing else to do in his small cell.

_Ferrari. _Motormaster had beaten him pretty badly. Wildrider usually didn't ask for the reasons; Motormaster always had one or many. But the boss had said something about Megatron's throne… Wildrider couldn't remember it, but if Motormaster had said it, it had to be true. Motormaster could be many things, but he wasn't a liar.

_Robot. _He was sure he had defeated Drag Strip during their last race. He was sure he had crashed against the wall first…

_Ferrari. _His leg had hurt. Superion's leg had hurt…

_Robot. _Drag Strip had helped him to pick up his pieces, literally… and also had said something about Breakdown setting him up. Motormaster had a really heavy hand, like really heavy… But why would Breakdown set him up?

_Ferrari. _Was Dead End okay? Among all the pain and confusion, he had seen Bruticus stepping on Dead End.

_Robot. _Superion? _Superion!_ What did he know about Superion?

Steps outside his cell made him stop his transforming game. He decided to stay in his bipedal form, at least until he figured out what was happening or until he got bored again, whatever happened first.

He saw an Autobot at the other side of the corridor. Red Alert, the one that all the Decepticons said was paranoid. Wildrider had thought more than once how amusing it would be to put that Autobot and Breakdown alone in the same room for a while. They would certainly have many things to talk about, like how many imaginary cameras were hidden there to spy on them.

"Hey! I wanna talk to my lawyer!" he yelled as loud as he could, wishing he had a bowl or something to clatter against the cell bars as he had seen some humans do in a movie.

Red Alert ignored him, although his face plates revealed that he was upset.

"Hey Autobot, Autobot, lemme out!" Wildrider kept shouting. "There are fleas in here, did you know? And cockroaches... and rats _this _size! I wanna a room with a view… and marital visits!"

When Red Alert ignored him again, Wildrider decided to go for a different approach. "I have some hot pictures of Starscream having an energon bath… All yours if you lemme have a phone call."

That definitely caused a reaction because Red Alert shot him a very angry – and embarrassed – look before disappearing through a nearby door.

"Waaaait!" Wildrider insisted, grabbing the energy bars and receiving a very intense energy shock. "I was serious… about the lawyer thing…"

He fell on his knees on the floor, shaking his still energized hands. Bad news was that there were no rats in his cell, or fleas, cockroaches or whatever to keep him company. He hated being alone.

His fist experience in the Autobot brig had been quite amusing because his teammates had been in the cells around him and in the end Breakdown had managed to free them all.

"_Everybody out on bad behavior!"_

Wildrider laughed at the memory. Breakdown had never been as brave and self-confident as that day. He had slagged three Autobots by himself before freeing his teammates…

Suddenly, his face became serious.

"_Wildrider… Wildrider did it."_

The memory returned to his processor as intense as the pain of Motormaster grabbing him and slamming him against the wall five times in a row.

Had Breakdown betrayed him?

He jumped to his feet and grabbed the cell bars again, not giving a slag for the thousands of volts that welcomed him again. He had to get out of there. He had to ask Breakdown for an explanation or at least slam him against some wall or other a couple of times, maybe a little more.

The energy from the bars propelled him backwards and Wildrider hit the back wall with a sonorous thud. He didn't have any idea where Breakdown was – certainly with Dead End because those two were always together – but he had the feeling that his team was close, his entire team.

But the feeling couldn't have been weirder because, even though he knew his teammates were around, he couldn't feel any of them. Maybe Dead End hadn't made it… But no, that couldn't be the case because the Gestalt bond didn't feel incomplete.

It wasn't disorientation that made him slump to his knees again, at least not the kind of disorientation provided as a result of some energized cell bars. Wildrider grabbed his head in one of the most serious attempts he had made to think, to actually think and put some order in the mess of a processor he had.

He could feel little short circuits inside his head and the overheating that happened every time he tried to trick his insanity to have a clearer picture of whatever was happening around him. It hurt as if he had an army of miniature Motormasters slagging him from the inside, but he had to keep going. No Breakdown and no lawyer were going to come to his aid, so…

"Frag, are your systems frying or what?"

Wildrider startled, momentarily ceasing his journey through his mind to address the Autobot standing outside his cell.

It was an Aerialbot, Slingshot. Wildrider smirked; it felt good to have company, even if said company was one of the slaggers of the rival team, even if said company was one of the slaggers who had taken him prisoner… It was such a shame that the Aerialbots were not Seekers.

"Does your head do that all the time?" Slingshot asked severely, pointing at Wildrider's helm. Wildrider wasn't a very good observer, but he could have sworn that, despite his rough voice, Slingshot was actually worried about him.

Then he noticed the smoke too. "Uh, no… not all the time." He must have been beyond confused this time. His processor only overheated that way when it was forced to work overtime, like in that particular case. Being insane sucked.

Slingshot remained silent. That was really odd because that Aerialbot in particular was one loud-mouthed slagger, almost as much as Drag Strip. Actually, Wildrider would have preferred if Slingshot insulted him or acted somehow more Aerialbotish. After all, Wildrider was always in the mood for messing with Autobots. He was actually looking forward to messing with Autobots.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" he asked, his words not exactly what he had in mind.

Slingshot took his time to reply. Frag, how Wildrider hated that!

"What did you do to Air Raid?"

Now that was unexpected.

"Mmmh," Wildrider recapitulated, "I crashed against him, I kicked him in the struts, I punched him in the—"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Stunticon! How did you take his place? How did you end up… merged with us?"

Superion! He knew about Superion, of course he knew about Superion! If Wildrider hated something as much as being insane, it was when his processor decided to click together the pieces of the puzzle, forcing him to confront something that he definitely didn't want to confront, only that the current situation was far worse than Motormaster ready to beat the slag out of him.

"I didn't," he said seriously, even by his standards. "You flyboys merged with me."

That must have been an answer Slingshot wasn't expecting because he seemed to be taken aback.

But that was the truth. All that Wildrider could remember at that moment of the past few hours was that Menasor had summoned him. Nothing rare there, but suddenly Menasor wasn't Menasor anymore, but Superion, like in one of those nightmares in which he was naked… _Ah no, that's another human movie._

He didn't even know that Gestalts could mix with other Gestalts. He would have preferred to merge with the Constructicons in that case. Mixmaster was always a good company and Long Haul reminded him of Breakdown. Besides, unless Scrapper and Hook were in a bitter mood – more bitter than usual, that is – the Constructicons wouldn't have kept him locked in a cell!

When that idea finished pumping his processor, he realized he was actually in the middle of a very uncomfortable silence. All silences were uncomfortable, but that one in particular was starting to bother him more than usual because Slingshot wasn't one who remained silent. Wildrider wondered if perhaps he could lure him into an insult fight, then the Aerialbot would open the cell and Wildrider would roll over him and escape. Easy.

He was about to start calling Slingshot all the variations he could think of for the word 'sling', but the sound of footsteps at the end of the corridor interrupted what could have been a very colorful insult match.

Wildrider smirked. There was Prowl, the one Autobot he loved to mess with.

"Hey Prowler, wassup? Race you to the—"

He stopped when he saw Silverbolt walking beside Prowl. There it was again, the feeling that his teammates were close, even though he couldn't feel any of them in particular. His processor must have started to glitch again, because now that both Slingshot and Silverbolt were there, Wildrider knew for sure that loneliness was a thing that had been completely eradicated.

He barely heard when Prowl said something about taking him to Wheeljack's lab.

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_Obvious references to the episode 'Masquerade'. Wasn't Breakdown supreme in that one or what?_

_Thank you very much for reading. All your comments are very welcome :o)_


	3. Welcome home

**Chapter 3**

**Welcome home**

Heavy steps directed Motormaster toward the Repair Bay. For the first time in his young life, the burden on his shoulders was close to being overwhelming. Too many things to deal with, very few options… Out of nowhere, the integrity of his team was under serious threat. The survival and purity of the Stunticons depended entirely on him and, so far, all he had done was fail.

He found Drag Strip and Breakdown waiting outside the big double doors of the Constructicons' dominion. Breakdown was saying something in low voice, gesturing with his hands as if he were trying to emphasize something. All he received in return was a rough shove and a blunt 'frag off'.

They stopped talking as soon as they saw him arriving.

Any other team leader, even a Decepticon, would have inquired about the status of a fallen teammate before anything else, but concern wasn't what guided Motormaster's first words.

"Why the slag aren't you watching the Autobot?" he asked Drag Strip. One of the things that rated high on his hate list was being disobeyed by his teammates, no matter if such oddity practically never happened.

Drag Strip shrugged his shoulders. "He's still offline, and I tied him pretty good. He's going nowhere."

Normally Motormaster would have slagged Drag Strip for much less than that, but he had really important things in his processor to deal with, so he decided to ignore Drag Strip and his tacit need to be close to the injured Dead End. That was something Motormaster couldn't blame him for.

Motormaster also decided to ignore Breakdown and his disgusting guilt complex. He was sure now that the cowardly idiot had lied to him that morning regarding the incident with Megatron's throne, but imposing proper discipline would have to wait. More than ever, he needed to focus on priorities, and he needed his remaining teammates in a functional status to turn those priorities into realities.

Without a word, Motormaster opened the doors before him and entered the most hated place in the Nemesis. He found his objective at the back of the room, boring Hook with some theory about unavoidable termination, which only Long Haul seemed to find interesting. Scrapper was nowhere to be seen.

"Can you walk?" Motormaster addressed Dead End without any sympathy, completely ignoring Hook and the other Constructicons scattered through the room.

"I suppose," was the reply. Dead End looked better than expected, and was obviously more disturbed by the damage to his paintjob than the wounds he had sustained, which were not of the dangerous type anymore.

Motormaster approved with a curt nod and signaled his teammate to follow him.

"I haven't finished with him," Hook said. As much as he hated being the only surgeon on the base, he never released a patient until he was satisfied with his work, and that could take days.

"Yes, you have," Motormaster scowled, not bothering to look at Hook and walking toward the door.

Bonecrusher stood in his way, playing calmly with a big wrench. "If Hook says he hasn't finished, it's because he hasn't."

Bonecrusher was the one Constructicon that was a decent match for Motormaster. It was unexplainable why, being the strongest of his team, Bonecrusher had never challenged Scrapper's leadership. Perhaps he didn't have enough bearings to do it.

"Back off," Motormaster said coldly. "First and last warning."

"Perhaps you should consider leaving Dead End for just another solar cycle," Scavenger suggested, more worried about a possible outburst of violence than about Dead End's welfare. The slagging junk collector had always been a cowardly peace lover.

"Ye-yeah, it's not like we're gonna _lose _him," Mixmaster sneered. "Where did you leave Wildrider, by the way? I heard that Menasor had an ugly limping problem today… O-oh wait, you already provided him with a replacement, right… Now that's e-efficiency."

The trigger had been pulled. No Constructicon was going to talk to Motormaster like that, not even if the slagging nurse robots had numbers on their side. As far as he was concerned, they could form Devastator and he would still slag them all.

He took a threatening step toward Mixmaster only to feel a heavy hand grabbing his shoulder. He turned around in time to stop Bonecrusher from hitting him with the wrench. He grabbed both of the Constructicon's wrists and crashed him against a wall, making a nearby table collapse.

"If you are going to fight, take it outside. Any damage to my laboratory will be remembered during your next maintenance revision, and that goes to you too, Bonecrusher," Hook said, right before he received a private comm. By the look of boredom on his face, it had to be Scrapper.

Motormaster stopped struggling with Bonecrusher and kept him pinned to the wall, wishing so much that he had Soundwave's audio sensors. Hook wasn't talking, at least not with spoken words, but obviously something important was being said because Hook listened without complaining and ended the communication with a simple nod.

"Change of plans. Dead End is allowed to leave the Repair Bay. Now if you'll excuse us, Motormaster, we have important matters to attend."

Motormaster frowned and gave Bonecrusher a last shove before releasing him.

Bonecrusher pushed him back in return. "You'll come back… In the end, you all come back here."

Motormaster ignored him and headed toward the exit, followed by Dead End.

Outside, Breakdown received Dead End with a timid smile and Drag Strip with a resounding 'you look like slag', both of them attempting to recover some sort of normality. Fortunately Dead End had nothing to hide and always said whatever he had on his mind before the terminal shutdown silenced him forever.

"I cannot feel Wildrider within the bond. Is he terminated?" he asked bluntly.

"No," Motormaster replied, not stopping in making his way toward the Stunticons' zone of the base.

"However, I also can feel the bond is complete. Is the Aerialbot here?"

Perhaps any other leader would have been grateful for Dead End's serenity in a moment in which everything seemed so fallen apart. But not Motormaster. Any word regarding the incident he couldn't even name yet was a painful reminder of his failure as Stunticon leader. If Dead End hadn't just been released from the Repair Bay, Motormaster would have at least slapped him.

"Our new teammate, you mean?" Drag Strip said, forcing a smirk. "Yep, I locked him up."

Motormaster turned around so fast that he even surprised himself. Before he knew what was happening, he had Drag Strip hanging before his face.

"That Autobot is _not _our teammate! He's a fraggin' Aerialbot and all of you would do well in remembering that!"

Drag Strip didn't dare say a word, neither did Breakdown or Dead End. The rest of their journey was made in silence.

* * *

Air Raid bit his lip components too hard, but he could barely register the pain. All his attention was focused on his wrists, gashed and dripping energon as a result of his uninterrupted efforts to release himself from the energon chains handcuffing him.

The urgency to get out of wherever he was had became an obsession. He had never felt so desperate in his life, so trapped… and that didn't have to do with the reduced space in which he was secured. From the look of it, it had to be a small storage container, although calling it a crypt seemed more proper because the space was so small that he had to have his legs folded. But Air Raid didn't mind. He just wanted to get out and reunite with freedom. It wasn't the skies that he was longing for, but his team. The reflection of his dented face plates on the surface of his prison brought him the same nightmare that had been wandering through his memory banks since he had regained consciousness.

Menasor's hands, optics staring in disbelief, a body that wasn't his, a communion of minds enslaving him, Superion expelling him…

A new struggle against the energon chains, a new gash on his wrist, and a new growl of despair coming from his vocalizer, the kind of despair that came from facing his ultimate fear. Air Raid had acquired many learnings during his short stay in sentient life, but the one thing he knew above everything else was that he was an Aerialbot and that he always would be. He had never been pessimistic, so picturing worst case scenarios had barely crossed his mind, but in that moment of sliced wrists and choking claustrophobia he recognized the shape of his Inferno and, once again, he denied it with everything he was able to shake.

_I'm an Aerialbot! _He had the wings, the insignia, the pride… Who cared if the Gestalt bond was currently oblivious to him? Who cared if all he received every time he tried to contact his teammates was a pair of folded arms and the back of Superion turned against him? He was an Aerialbot and he would be till the very end!

And the end was close, as close as the proximity of the familiar energy signatures that sent that unique warmth to his spark, the warmth that only his teammates could provide. Air Raid only grimaced with frustration; those were not the signatures he knew, even though he now recognized them as a part of him. Something wrong had happened, something very wrong. Why else would his entire self recognize Motormaster, Drag Strip, Breakdown and Dead End as his brothers?

Light didn't take long to appear, and he was suddenly dragged out of the darkness by a powerful hand, the same hand that had knocked him out not so long ago. The first thing he saw after leaving the container was a rough face looking at him with hatred, but at the same time with the kind of look a mech would only give to something he owned.

"See? I told you he wouldn't go anywhere."

"Locking him up in Wildrider's quarters… Interesting, not to mention ironic."

Air Raid didn't have to see their faces to know that Drag Strip and Dead End had spoken, respectively. He just knew, as he knew that he had a sense of belonging to whatever Gestalt bond had decided to let him know that it wasn't dormant anymore.

But the presence before him was even more overwhelming than the Gestalt bond. He only had to see Motormaster's frown to know he was about to be hit again.

And he wasn't wrong.

He couldn't avoid groaning when he was slammed against a wall, his wings receiving most of the damage. His optics locked for a moment with Breakdown's, but the Stunticon hurried to lower his glaze.

"You have some explaining to do," Motormaster said. "Start!"

It seemed that Motormaster had the habit of accompanying his words with actions because he hit him against the wall again.

"You want explanations?" Air Raid spat, sending his pain to the Pit. "About what? Your ugly face or the 'I owe you a brain module' note you found inside your head after you were sparked?"

Drag Strip laughed softly, in anticipation of the suffering that was certain to be delivered to somebody that was not him.

"Slag!" Air Raid cried, a stream of energon coming out of his mouth as he was slammed again, much harder than the previous two times. "I have wings back there, you know?"

Motormaster threw him to his knees and grabbed one of his most valuable appendages, twisting it brutally.

"That is about to change," Motormaster said. "If you value these pieces of junk you will start rewinding your last memories and tell me exactly what happened out there."

"Go and frag yourself!" Air Raid's display of bravado only caused Motormaster to crush tighter. Air Raid was beginning to understand the logic of the Stunticon leader's behavior. "Aaaaargh, you fragger! I don't know, okay? I have no idea what the slag happened!"

As predicted, that only caused more pain. Air Raid was sure his left wing was about to be torn off. Next thing he knew, he was flying, not propelled by his thrusters but by Motormaster's brute force. The opposite wall stopped his unceremonious journey. At least that gave some relief to his wings and a different pain to worry about.

"He's not lying," he heard Dead End saying nonchalantly. It wasn't that Dead End was actually defending him, it was that he knew that Air Raid was telling the truth. Once again, the Gestalt bond was providing information he hadn't requested.

Motormaster reached him again. Air Raid kicked him in the knee joint but it was as if he hadn't done anything at all. He was sure Motormaster would continue beating him but, much to his surprise, the Stunticon leader picked him up from the floor and roughly deposited him on a nearby chair that had carved in one of the arms a 'Wildrider rrulez' legend in an attempt at English language.

"You talk just once," Motormaster said, "and I'll tear your vocalizer out of your throat." For some reason, Air Raid knew that wasn't a joke.

Then he felt it, the opening of the very private bond that only Gestalt teammates shared, the one thing that he had acknowledged since the very first moment of his life as the comradeship that was above the one that any friend, lover or ally could provide. The harmony was there, but not his brothers to answer his call. However, the bond was not silent. Harmonizing with his spark, distrust not disrupting the communion, Motormaster, Breakdown, Dead End and Drag Strip responded.

"_State your name and your sub group."_

Motormaster's voice, but Air Raid didn't process it as the voice of the mech that had just beaten him. That was the voice of the leader, of _his _leader, a voice that suddenly sounded so familiar.

"_Denomination: Air Raid… Sub group: Stunticons," _he answered by instinct, neither reason nor feelings guiding the words that spread through the Gestalt bond.

He only realized what he had said when it was too late, but he was too busy being shocked by the sudden return to the tangible world to actually feel startled. He saw the four Stunticons staring at him in disbelief, even Dead End was showing amazement.

Metal creaking revealed the fist trembling in rage right before his face. Motormaster raised that heavy hand of his and Air Raid cringed, mentally preparing for the blow to come and the dent it would leave on the other side of his face in a display of very painful symmetry. The fist found a target, right above his head, and embedded itself in the wall.

Air Raid dared to online his optics and found the very frustrated face of Motormaster, his fist still inside the hole it had opened in the wall. If what his optics were showing wasn't enough, the Gestalt bond also gave Air Raid a clear picture of just how furious Motormaster was. It was, by far, the biggest display of anger Air Raid had ever witnessed, even more than when Slingshot got his aft served to him by Skywarp three times in the same battle.

But Motormaster didn't keep punching him, didn't even stare at him when he finally retired his fist from the wall.

"You two come with me!" he ordered, signaling to Dead End and Breakdown. "Drag Strip, you stay here and guard the prisoner. Don't you even think about trying anything stupid!"

It wasn't the sound of the footsteps that confirmed in Air Raid's mind that the three Stunticons were indeed moving away, but the sudden increasing emptiness his spark felt, just as he felt every time that his teammates were not close by.

* * *

Wildrider adjusted his optical sensors to minimize the impact of the intense light shining above him. That gave features to the silhouettes standing around the table he was lying on. Optimus Prime, Prowl, Ironhide, Wheeljack, Ratchet and Silverbolt. Not precisely the kind of company he would have chosen, although for some reason Silverbolt's presence didn't bother him.

"Stop struggling, Stunticon!" Ratchet growled as he laboriously secured a metal band around Wildrider's right wrist. Wheeljack was doing the same thing with his left wrist. Both of his legs were already restrained.

That brought a memory to Wildrider's populated processor. He remembered lying on a workbench with another dazzling light above his face. And then a shadow had towered him. A tall, silver, strongly built robot... Even though he didn't remember actually having been able to think or assess what was happening, he had recognized his maker.

"_Your denomination will be Wildrider. The roads are yours to terrorize."_

"Wheeljack, proceed."

Another tall and strongly built robot had spoken, returning Wildrider from his little walk down memory lane. Wildrider giggled, as he did every time he heard Optimus Prime speaking. He sounded so much like that donkey from Winnie the Pooh...

"This procedure…" Silverbolt said uneasily, "it won't hurt him, right?"

"He won't feel a thing. He will be recharging by the time we finish," Wheeljack assured him, connecting a bunch of diodes to Wildrider's helm.

_Procedure?_

"Hey!" Wildrider said, trying uselessly to shake his head. "A little too early for my first gynecologist visit. I'm not thirty yet! Frag, I'm not even five!"

Ironhide threatened him with his fist. "You'll never get to six if you don't zip it!"

When Wheeljack activated some device that looked like junk from Scavenger's collection, Wildrider started to laugh. "That tickles! Put it on my wheels, would ya?"

"Permission requested to weld his mouth," Ratchet mumbled, subspacing a laser scalpel.

"Don't bother, Ratchet, I'll silence him in the good ole classical way," Ironhide said, making his knuckles creak and approaching Wildrider.

"That's enough," Optimus Prime said firmly. "Begin, Wheeljack. As soon as we finish this, the better."

"Whoa, whoa! What are you doing? Stay away from there!" Wildrider cried when he felt the warm energy invading his processor. It wasn't painful, but rather violating, and Wildrider didn't like it. It felt as if his entire mind was being stripped.

"Calm down," Silverbolt told him. "Wheeljack is only analyzing your mental patterns."

That didn't sound relieving at all. Wildrider didn't like anybody to mess with his head, period. That was one of the reasons why he feared Soundwave, because he could read thoughts as if they were comic books. His teammates were a different matter; they were welcome in his processor even though they were currently so absent, all except Silverbolt.

He frowned and tried to struggle again. _Silverbolt? _What did he care about Silverbolt? And was the fat-lipped Aerialbot boss being nice to him?

"By the Primary Program… this is amazing…" Wheeljack said, staring at the Cybertronian characters displayed on a small screen beside him.

"Did you find the reason of the Gestalt malfunction?" Optimus Prime asked.

"No, not yet… But just take a look at this. His processor is completely glitched, and beyond any repair, I'm afraid. See? All his cerebro-shells are working at the same time, intertwined without any trace of organization… It would be impossible to calculate how many thoughts and ideas he processes in one single astro second."

"No wonder why the poor slagger is so fragged up," Ironhide said.

"The curious thing is that if his neural sensors would be able to work coherently, this Decepticon would be a genius."

Ratchet snorted at Wheeljack. "Wonderful, Shockwave with wheels, a dream come true. Fortunately Megatron did us a favour when he forgot to turn off the insanity switch when he built him."

"Continue, Wheeljack. The efficiency of his neural sensors is not our current concern."

Wheeljack obeyed Optimus Prime and pressed some button on the device. Wildrider would have liked to ask about that insanity switch that Ratchet had mentioned, but the streams of energy flowing into his head were lulling him into oblivion. He decided to let himself go. Whatever the Autobots were doing to him really sucked and it would be better if he could spend it in recharge mode. He definitely would have preferred going to the gynecologist.

"Your turn, Silverbolt."

Just the mention of that name made Wildrider activate his optics again. He saw the Aerialbot leader lying down on the berth next to his.

_Maybe I'm going to receive a blood transfusion_? He had seen humans doing that on TV. The thought that he didn't have blood running through his fuel lines never crossed his mind.

"Just as I feared…" Wheeljack said even before he had finished attaching the bunch of diodes to Silverbolt's head. "The interlock signatures are identical."

That must have been serious because even Prowl stared at him with curiosity, and Prowl _never _stared at anything with curiosity.

"Holy frag…" Ironhide mumbled. "Does that mean that this crack case is actually an Aerialbot?"

Wheeljack nodded. "The Gestalt bond seems to believe so."

Wildrider didn't understand a bit of what the Autobots were talking about. He was feeling more wasted than the first time he had been over-energized.

"No!" he heard Silverbolt saying as he got up from the table, leaving a bunch of diodes hanging behind. "_This _is a Stunticon! Air Raid is an Aerialbot! Air Raid is our teammate!"

"We'll talk about this in private," Optimus Prime said. "Ironhide, return Wildrider to his cell."

Ironhide's optics shined maliciously. "With pleasure."

The cell again… Wildrider didn't like that. "I want a window where I can see a tree… or even water," he mumbled weakly, the memory of the 'Silence of the lambs' movie he had seen the day before returning to his very numb processor. All he knew was that he wanted to be in a federal institution, far away from doctor Chilton… The Autobots must not have understood a thing because, except for Prowl and Ironhide, they looked at him with pity.

From the corner of his blurry optics, Wildrider saw Silverbolt approaching Optimus Prime and telling him something in low voice. After some seconds, the donkey from Winnie the Pooh nodded and turned around.

"Wait, Ironhide. From this moment on, the Aerialbots will be in charge of the prisoner."

He didn't have enough consciousness to process one single thought more, but those words seemed as reassuring as the idea of being with his teammates again.

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_I didn't know it until some days ago, but Peter Cullen makes the voice of the donkey from Winnie the Pooh. I never watched those fluff monstrosities, but I read that piece of information in Cullen's bio, so I couldn't help to go and watch some clips in youtube. And oh sweet Unicron… it was true! Optimus Prime trapped in the body of that donkey! Disturbing image… and I immediately thought that Wildrider could have lived a similar process. _

_I also used a little quote from 'The silence of the lambs'. Having lived practically all their life in Earth – except for some minutes in Cybertron – I always thought the Stunticons would be quite familiar with human culture, although reinterpreted according to their standards, of course..._

_Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter. Many thanks to my sis iratepirate for beta reading!_


	4. Move it, into the hold!

**Chapter 4**

**Move it, into the hold!**

It was only when Motormaster, Breakdown and Dead End left the room that Air Raid realized that he was actually in some sort of personal quarters, although calling that place a junk yard would have fitted better. There were all kinds of flashy objects scattered through the place, both of Cybertronian and terrestrial origin. No wall or spot on the floor had been left untouched by that torrent of hybrid fashion, including the recharge berth, painted in vivid grey and red and featuring a Decepticon insignia that seemed to have been drawn by a child's hand. A second view revealed that there was an organization of some sort. Some objects were grouped by their colours, others by sizes and others through classifications that Air Raid just couldn't identify. There were also half a dozen metallic containers like the one he had been trapped in at the beginning.

Even though he knew practically nothing about him – only that he was fragging insane – Air Raid had no doubt that he was in the very private chambers of Wildrider, Primus damn his spark. He wondered how the crazy Decepticon was doing at that precise moment. He hoped that Slingshot or Skydive had already used him as spare parts material, but he was sure that Silverbolt would never allow it. There was no doubt that his team was being far more civilized with their uncomfortable guest than the Stunticons. Air Raid had never cursed his luck, but he had just found the perfect moment to start doing it.

"Do you know what my Gravito-gun would do to you if I shot it point blank at your face?"

Air Raid flinched, hating himself for the reaction. Drag Strip had the canon of his favorite weapon pointing right toward the spot between his optics. The gesture seemed more like a display of boredom than an actual threat, though. And even if that wasn't the case, Air Raid knew that Drag Strip wasn't willing to shoot him, at least not fatally… _he never would._

Air Raid repressed his grimace of frustration at that sudden revelation and tried to answer with all the neutrality he could acquire under the circumstances. "Let me guess… It would make me fly? Gee, would you believe me if I told you that _that _wouldn't precisely be a new experience for me?"

Drag Strip scowled and lowered his gun, somehow frustrated that his antics to intimidate his prisoner hadn't worked. But there was more than that small failure in Drag Strip's frustration, Air Raid could have noticed that even without the sudden bond linking them. The possibility that the Stunticons could also be suffering because of the current bizarre experience crossed his mind for the first time. And it was definitely more than a mere possibility, judging by the way Drag Strip was fidgeting in his seat, but cataclysms would happen before Air Raid would actually feel sorry for a Stunticon, especially for that presumptuous slaghole.

"You are aware that the only way you could take me down would be with that stupid weapon of yours, aren't you Decepticreep?"

Drag Strip ignored him and turned the monitor of the computer on, starting to skip through terrestrial television frequencies. Air Raid frowned. He had always thought that all Decepticons despised everything that had to do with human creatures – something that the Aerialbots had in common with them – but it seemed that the Stunticons were forged differently. It had to be; they had been made from terrestrial vehicles after all, and the fondness of their planet must have been something their Decepticon programming couldn't overrun.

But Air Raid didn't have time to waste on the origins of the Aerialbots' sworn enemies. He had to return to his team immediately and the only way to do it was by exploiting the very well known weakness of his current jailer.

"If I had one arm free, just one… you would be slag by now. You're no match for m—"

Drag Strip moved fast, as fast as he was in his race car mode. Air Raid found himself suddenly on the floor, his chair knocked over, his optics facing the ceiling and the smirking face of the Stunticon.

"It's you who are no match for me, air head! We're not even in the same league!"

"Says the scum who attacks a tied enemy…"

"Please! After all the times I've served you your own aft on a plate, you should call me waiter!" Drag Strip said as he kicked the fallen chair again, separating it from the also fallen Air Raid. "What about the time when I crashed you in mid air and sent you nosecone down into a swamp?"

"That wasn't me, you junk face! You did that to Fireflight, and only because he was fooling around."

Drag Strip frowned and seemed confused. "You fly slags are all the same."

"But you're right about something, ground-pounder, we're not in the same league. I'm an Aerialbot and you a rubber-made dirt-kisser."

That was a rude thing to say, but if Air Raid was going to use some of the Seekers' favorite insults regarding non-fliers it had to be in that moment. He was no Seeker alright, but he had the pride of the fliers, something that his fellow – and wingless – Autobots considered so blindly as arrogance.

But Drag Strip's retort felt crueler than whatever insults Air Raid could have come up with. "Are you, now? That's not what I heard. Last thing I knew was that your team kicked you out. He he, I guess scrap gets tired of scrap sometimes."

Low hit, and Air Raid had never been one to tolerate those. "Just because you psycho terrorists kicked _your _teammate out doesn't mean mine did the same to me! Whatever slag happened was _your _fault!" he cried, taking the word 'kick' to a literal meaning and impacting Drag Strip's midsection with his foot.

That wasn't the wisest thing to do, as Drag Strip snorting and immediately retaliating proved, but Air Raid was annoyed beyond his limits. He wanted to get the slag out of there, he wanted to go back to his teammates, he wanted to see all the Stunticons melted into a huge pile of junk—

He was forced to get up only to receive a strong punch to his face. Normally that kind of hit wouldn't have felt as if his face plates were being pummeled by ten torpedoes, but he had already received a taste of Motormaster's tenderness and everything hurt twice as much. His cracked optic lost its last pieces when he was punched again, but he made good use of the pain to send everything to the Pit and impacted his helm against Drag Strip's face, which caused the Stunticon to step back.

"Damn it, Wildrider! How many times do I have to tell you to never hit me on the face plates?"

Air Raid stopped in the middle of providing Drag Strip another blow with his head. It was more than the fact that the Stunticon had actually called him Wildrider; it was the fact that suddenly he knew exactly how vain and proud of his looks Drag Strip was. It was as if Air Raid had known him thoroughly all his life.

Drag Strip also seemed disturbed by his sudden confusion because he didn't seem eager to continue the fight and simply pushed him away. "You're not worth it. I'm the Stunticons Second in Command, did you know that? I don't fight cheap slags like you."

Normally Air Raid would have had a lot of things to say about a statement like that, but suddenly he was out of rage, out of energy, out of everything… "You're no Second in Command," he said mechanically, not even knowing what he was speaking, "Dead End is…"

The confusion and the sudden realization that, despite their mutual hate, there were no empty spaces between them became overwhelming. Air Raid hated to admit it, but as much as he loathed that Decepticon, he also felt very close to him, almost familiar. For a moment, he felt as if he were tussling with Slingshot. Sometimes they both resorted to their fists during their arguments, but never, _ever, _hurt each other.

Air Raid shook his head. He knew the feeling that was slowly forcing its way into his processor too well, but no matter what some glitch in the Gestalt bond was fooling him into believing, he would never consider that Stunticon – or any of his psychopathic teammates – as his family.

Another sudden shake of his head reminded him of the importance of keeping his mind focused under the current circumstances. He just hoped that the treacherous Gestalt bond wouldn't reveal his disturbing thoughts to Drag Strip. As much as he was bonded to the Stunticons now, they were nothing but a bunch of psychopathic freaks who would never have any sympathy for him, not that he was looking for it…

"Strengthening bonds so soon, you two? How romantic!"

Aerialbot and Stunticon turned to the entrance of the room. They must have been very distracted and confused because they hadn't even heard the footsteps approaching. The cone-shaped heads, on the other hand, were something that their senses promptly processed.

"Sorry for interrupting you lovebirds," Ramjet continued, "but the Aerialbot scum is coming with us."

"The slag he is," Drag Strip didn't waste a nano klik to retort. "Frag off, birdbrains! You're too far away from your nest."

"Perhaps we are," Dirge said, addressing Drag Strip with a glare of superiority. "But we're following Megatron's orders. He wants this Autobot at the Constructicons lair as we speak… And you wouldn't go against his orders, would you? What would Motormaster say about that?"

Drag Strip hesitated. Air Raid didn't know how willingly the Stunticon slagger obeyed Motormaster's orders, but it was certainly the fear of facing the wrath of the psycho semi that made him doubt, and certainly not anything resembling preoccupation for Air Raid's wellbeing.

Ramjet walked toward Air Raid and roughly grabbed him by one wing. The instant hatred toward anything wearing a purple symbol resurfaced, taking Air Raid to more familiar territory. He had been built to fight Decepticon jets, and the one before him was one of the worst slaggers to have ever worn wings.

"Don't worry," Ramjet said. "We'll get this Autoscum out of your sight. If he had done to my trine what he did to your team, I know I'd wanted him slagged. And that's what you want, don't you Drag?"

"Yes, that's what I want…" Drag Strip averted his face before responding, a gesture that would have seemed more natural in Breakdown, or that's what Air Raid thought.

"Good boy. Now, if you excuse us, we have Aerialbot scum to deal with," Dirge said, helping Ramjet to drag Air Raid towards the corridor.

Ramjet winked an optic before leaving. "Don't worry about Miss Junk Wings here, we'll take good care of her. Tell Motormaster that he can always talk to Megatron if he has some complaint."

Right before leaving the room, Air Raid locked optics with Drag Strip. His immense ego would have never admitted it, but he could feel his own stare exposing his desperation and his tacit request for help. The damage he had sustained must have been messing with his processor, because the last thing he saw was Drag Strip's optic visor fading in something that looked so much like impotence.

* * *

If anything, the place was filled with dust, microscopic fragments of terrestrial minerals and burned metal sneaking through his joints. Dead End was thankful for his facemask, otherwise everybody would know he scowled more often than they would grant him.

And he was definitely scowling, as he recognized a trace of his own paintjob in a dented metal fragment that looked suspiciously similar to the new plate he was wearing on his mid section. Dead End didn't care enough as to actually hate someone, but he had no sympathy for the Combaticons. Now that he thought about it, he had no sympathy for anyone.

Because sympathy was not what he had for his teammates. That was habit, the absolute bond that had linked him to them since the very first moment of his creation, the tacit need for their company… but not sympathy.

But if somebody would have asked him if he was indifferent to Wildrider being expelled from the Gestalt bond, the answer would have been no. Even though Wildrider was not supposed to be part of the team anymore, Dead End still considered him – and would consider him as such for the remainder of Dead End's short life – as Stunticon as he was, as Stunticon as the others were.

So, in summary, Dead End was upset because of the sudden absence – and absurd replacement – in the Gestalt bond, and he could tell that Breakdown was too; his teammate's glare lower than usual and the slight shivering on his body that couldn't be blamed on his vibratory pulses.

But Motormaster was, by far, the most affected by the incident. Dead End was the only one who had taken the time to study his leader's personality over the years, not because he cared but because his life would be too short and it would be better to use his little time on analyzing the world around him. To the rest of the Stunticons, Motormaster was nothing but a brutal, tyrannical leader who beat them for every little failure and sometimes only for sick amusement. Fear and hatred were the engines behind the absolute obedience that the Stunticons had for their Commander, not the respect that other Gestalt team leaders like Onslaught and Scrapper had inspired in their teammates after millenniums of fair and righteous leadership.

But Dead End knew better. He knew exactly how much Motormaster cared for each one of them – care in its most possessive and rough way, of course. All his actions were guided by the relentless desire to make the Stunticons the Elite group of the Decepticon Army. His methods were very questionable, but somehow he had gained the other Decepticons' respect, all eager to shred the Stunticons to pieces because of their terrestrial origins and young age. In five years of existence – which Dead End was sure was far more than the half of his entire lifespan – there had been only one internal attack against the Stunticons in the shape of Breakdown having his aft served to him by the Triplechangers. Retaliation had been immediate; Astrotrain and Blitzwing had been found almost offlined in one of the Nemesis' waste disposals, and Motormaster had returned to his team limping, with a missing arm and oblivious to both the dents on his frame and the stares the other Decepticons threw at him. In just one cycle, he had gained respect for himself and his team, and had made very clear that the only fists that would pummel the Stunticons would be his.

And that included his own frame, as Dead End noticed how Motormaster seemed eager to start thrashing himself. There was no doubt that he blamed himself for the wrong merge incident and was living the worst hell of his life. But still, Dead End didn't feel sorry for him. That would have meant he had sympathy for Motormaster, and he certainly didn't have it.

A gentle touch on his shoulder made him turn and face the worrying face of Breakdown.

"Uh… I think this is yours," Breakdown said, showing him a piece of marred metal.

Dead End recognized his former forearm plate. It was only scrap now, dented and deprived of its polished surface. He thought about keeping it, if only to have something to put on his crypt after he died. But he decided against it, considering that hopefully there would be enough left of him to use for that purpose – if somebody was going to care enough to give him a memorial service before letting his remains rust, that is.

A heavy hand landed on Breakdown' shoulder and tightened until it deformed the metal beneath. "Did I order you to trace energy readings or to collect junk?"

Breakdown winced and released his macabre finding. As it hit the ground, Dead End realized that it was still polished after all.

Motormaster ignored Breakdown's stutter and pushed him away, fixating his cold optics on Dead End. "I want a reconstruction as thorough as possible of what happened here."

Dead End nodded. He understood what Motormaster wanted to do, and even though Dead End considered it pointless, he didn't delay in doing what he had been told. His processor was the sharpest of the entire team and, for once, he would use it for a valuable purpose, pointless as it was doomed, but valuable… Tacit or not, retrieving Wildrider was the highest, if not only, priority.

As Dead End and Breakdown fulfilled their orders, Motormaster only stood there, apparently watching for possible threats but deep inside thinking about possibilities and certainly refusing to accept fatalities, faithful to his style. Another moment of feeling sorry for him was in sight, but Dead End refused it. He would never get there.

It was minutes later when Motormaster finally gave signals of not being a statue of steel.

"Return to the base," he coldly ordered.

The three Stunticons transformed immediately, Dead End visibly slower due to the pain in his hydraulics after the damage and repairs he had sustained recently.

He wasn't surprised when Motormaster opened his trailer for him, noticing that he was in no condition to roll a mile more.

"Get the frag in. You slowed us down enough already."

Dead End obeyed, not slightly considering feeling gratitude, although his sore frame certainly was when it rested inside his leader's trailer.

* * *

Decepticon fliers were some competitive psychos and would slag each other for sure, but that was nothing compared to the absolute hatred they had for the Autobot fliers, or that's what Air Raid could ascertain as he was being dragged and beaten by the two laughing Coneheads. Personally, Air Raid had always considered them a sad lot of second class Seekers, not even close to being compared with Starscream and his trine, and even less to the Aerialbots, but they had very hard fists, and a lot of cruelty to give away.

He was in a very bad shape already, but he refused to let oblivion give him a temporary, perhaps ultimate, shelter. He had no doubt that those Decepticons would kill him mercilessly, but he would die ten times before begging for his life. He would keep insulting and struggling with them until the very end, which was certainly close.

_Now I'm starting to think like Dead End… _The next 'fragger' that came from his vocalizer was directed at himself. What the slag did he care for Dead End, or for any other Stunticon for that matter? He had to get them out of his processor, to expel them from his Spark that commanded him to acknowledge those slagging terrorists as his brothers. There were not his fragging team, the Aerialbots were!

Suddenly he was on his knees. He hadn't realized he and his captors had arrived at a wide room, filled with all kind of weird, torture-like tools.

But his optics focused on another target. Looking at him with the same cold optics they would have used to stare at a subject of experimentation, the Constructicons Hook and Scrapper were waiting.

And they were not alone. Megatron towered them with his impressive frame that reflected nothing more than cruelty. It was then, and only then, that Air Raid realized that being certain of his own termination was not only being fatalistic as Dead End would have been, it was being realistic.

Megatron himself didn't waste time in confirming his worst fears.

"Hook, start to dissect him."

_To be continued._

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_Next chapters are flowing like water. I'm definitely in a writing streak concerning this story. I already loved writing the Stunticons, but getting into the Aerialbots' nest is proving to be a delicious experience._

_Thank you very much to my beta reader iratepirate, who corrects my typos as soon as I write them._

_Update coming soon! Your opinions are very welcome._


	5. An interesting problem in engineering

_My Stunticon-Aerialbot muse is kicking constantly these days, so here you have another update. Sorry if my other stories are a little neglected, but I'm intending to correct that during the next days. It's just that you know what happens when a story gets so much into you… well, you just have to keep writing it! And that's exactly what is happening to me with this fic, especially now that things are starting to get red-hot._

_Many thanks to iratepirate for beta reading and for finally convincing me to watch Transformers Prime._

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**Chapter 5**

**An interesting problem in engineering**

To say that Air Raid wasn't afraid would have been not only a complete lie, but the kind of fantasy that only happened in human fairy tales. Air Raid was no coward, but he wasn't stupid either. As he was dragged towards the inclined metal plate at the back of the room, he felt the certainty, the actual certainty, that his life was about to reach its ending. And it wasn't just the Dead End-like kind of thought, it was the unique knowledge every being condemned to death had on his way to the scaffold.

Normally he would have had tons of insults for his executioner wannabes, especially for Megatron, but the heavy burden of immediate termination silenced his vocalizer – crushed would have been a better description. Suddenly he felt so lonely. It wasn't only the fact that he was living the last moment of his life, it was the absence of his teammates that hurt the most. He hadn't been separated from them one single breem since their creation, and now he was going to die alone, the loneliest 'bot in the Universe, not even able to feel the warmth of Drag Strip's presence anymore.

Air Raid had the clarity of mind to shake his head in denial. His teammates were others! He had to remove those bloody Stunticons from his system immediately. He wasn't going to face the ultimate shutdown with treacherous thoughts about the team where he really belonged. He hoped that at least his teammates would know that he had died thinking about them, that no matter what insane confusion had happened, he had died being an Aerialbot…

He was strapped to the plate, arms and legs immobilized by thick shackles. Dirge and Ramjet were the only ones who provided him with a glare of mockery that somehow returned the situation to a more or less normal status. Megatron and the Constructicons, on the other hand, were looking at him as if he were an object… an object that was about to be disassembled.

And that was exactly what he was to them, as Hook proved by removing the restraints of his chest plates and opening them without any delicacy.

"Core temperature seems to be normal. Take energy readings to be certain," Scrapper said.

"That's the logical procedure. Spare me from instructions that are more than obvious," Hook replied coldly. He certainly had an issue with taking orders.

Air Raid groaned when Hook retrieved two sharp tendrils from a panel on his wrist and attached them to his exposed spark chamber.

"Hey! Private zone there, Decepticreep! Take your filthy hands off—!"

A strong hit to his mouth silenced him. It took him only a second to realize that he hadn't been punched, but literally silenced with a thin but hard metal plate that had been attached to his lip components, courtesy of Scrapper. The Constructicon leader didn't address him, though, didn't insult him or mock him. He just didn't want his subject of experimentation to disturb him with his voice.

Air Raid had heard about the fame Hook had for being a sadist. He had no doubt about it when the Constructicon removed the set of thick screws that kept his helm attached to his head. Hook was careful, as careful as a methodical scientist would be with an object he was dissecting, and just as such, he didn't care about the sensitive terminals in that zone of Air Raid's frame and the potential pain such invasion could cause.

"Open his processor," Megatron ordered.

Hook shot him an _'I know!' _look but managed to keep his vocalizer shut. Whatever frustration he felt for, once again, being told the obvious, was released in the precise, but utterly painful way, in which he sliced the layers covering Air Raid's processor as if they were cheese.

Before Hook could continue, Scrapper stepped forward and attached a new set of tendrils to Air Raid's now open head. Where the slag did those Construtifreaks got all those torture toys?

"Readings are identical to the Stunticons' main programming," Scrapper said with a tingle of sick satisfaction in his voice. "Nothing can be done to overrun the process. It would be the same as trying to program any other Combiner to fit into a team that is not his. In other words, it's impossible."

Megatron frowned. "I'll be the judge of that, Scrapper. Impossible is a word that is completely out of order, so restrain yourself from giving opinions I didn't request! Now test his transformation cog."

Air Raid was thankful for the plate covering his mouth, otherwise his howl of pain would have been quite resounding when Hook activated a laser scalpel and started to apply it on his shoulder joint. Metal plates, fuel lines and delicate circuitry began to give up, severed by the sharp, red-hot and destructive beam. When his arm fell flat on the floor, he almost choked on an ebb of his own energon that attempted to come out from his shut mouth.

Scrapper picked up the mutilated arm and scanned it, turning it all over and completely insensitive to the severed fuel lines dripping energon and lubricant. "Normally, a thorough examination would be required, but I can tell just by looking that this Autobot's circuitry has been rewired. The subject has been reformatted to fit into Menasor's frame with a hundred percent efficiency."

A snarl of frustration could be heard from the place Megatron was standing. "So reversing the physical merge is out of the question… Turn your attention to his processor. Hook, remove his cerebro-shells. The Gestalt bond is unique programming indeed, but the subjects who compose it are sentient and have a say on the matter. If there's a chance to trick the Gestalt bond, it must be hidden in this Autobot's mind."

Hook nodded nonchalantly and towered Air Raid with the shadow of a circular saw.

Air Raid groaned in frustration and panic. It was bad enough that he was going to be killed, but did those Decepticon scum bags have to slice him as if he were a turkey?

His expectations of extreme pain were completely fulfilled when the saw started to cut through his forehead. Good news was that he was certainly going to deactivate from pure suffering before his head joined his arm in Scrapper's grip.

But the saw didn't reach more than his superficial layers. Suddenly the horrible sound stopped, as well as the intense pain. Air Raid tried to direct his flickering optic, now also dripping his own vital fluid, to what his instinct recognized as salvation.

Standing beneath the door's threshold, Motormaster was standing. Unlike the other Decepticons, he didn't seem to find the scene amusing.

Air Raid didn't understand what was said after that; his audio sensors were still in shock after the damage his body had sustained. When he finally managed to stabilize them, all he could hear was Motormaster's voice.

"… stay functional. If you need a sample of the Stunticons' cerebro-shells, use mine," he said, walking toward Air Raid and releasing him from his restraints. Air Raid was too shocked to realize what was happening, especially when Motormaster threw him aside roughly and took his place on the metal plate. But surprises were in order that day, as Motormaster proved when he snatched the saw from Hook's hand and started to apply it on his own forehead. If he was in pain – and he had to be – he wasn't showing it. He continued opening his helm and allowing his vital fluid to run over his temples as if he were doing something completely ordinary.

"Enough."

Motormaster stopped and stared at Megatron. In that single moment Air Raid understood the complete obedience Motormaster had for Megatron, the way he was loyal without being submissive. Where others cowered in fear before the Slag Maker, Motormaster obeyed him with pride. And Megatron seemed to have some respect for the Stunticon leader as well, not willing to keep staring arms-crossed whilst his soldier slagged himself. Motormaster gained something at that moment, and Air Raid knew that it was his life.

Megatron pointed a finger toward Air Raid's broken form on the floor. "Very well, Motormaster. The Autobot will be your complete responsibility now. You have five solar cycles to come to me with a solution. At the ending of that time, I'll proceed as I consider convenient."

Motormaster nodded and made a military salute to Megatron. Then he picked Air Raid up from the floor without even looking at him and put him over his shoulder. With the same indifference, he picked up the severed arm.

When the thick metal of the door prevented him from staring at his torturers any longer, Air Raid understood for a fleeting moment that respect that Megatron had showed to Motormaster by granting him the life of an enemy. Air Raid understood that respect, because he was feeling it too.

* * *

Slingshot snarled sonorously, making sure that Silverbolt had heard him, but if his leader did, he didn't show it. He continued on his way to the back of the room with his infamous charge in his arms and deposited Wildrider's limp form on the recharge berth.

"I'll be in the Command Centre. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said to no one in particular.

Slingshot waited until Silverbolt had almost reached the door to speak. "So," he said, without detaching his stare from a blank spot on the wall. "That's it? You go and small talk with Optimus Prime and leave us to babysit this junk pile?"

"Not only that, but with specific orders not to shoot him," Skydive said, tired of replaying the same flying maneuver on the computer screen over and over again.

Silverbolt stopped. "What else do you expect me to do?"

Slingshot got up from his chair. "Keeping him in the brig would have been a good start, and under Ironhide and the others' supervision. But bringing the slagger _here? _To Air Raid's quarters? What the slag were you thinking?"

Silverbolt turned around slowly. "The brig wouldn't be a safe place. Do you have any idea of what Ironhide and the others would do to Wildrider if we leave him alone for a minute? There's no Autobot in this base who wouldn't like to use him as a punching bag."

"Yeah, including us!" Slingshot snapped. "This is a Stunticon we are talking about, Silverbolt! An enemy! And you bring him here… to the very private chambers of _your_ teammate and pretend to treat him as if he were one of our own?"

It was easy to realize that that was one of those moments in which Silverbolt hated having been appointed Aerialbot leader, perhaps the worst so far. "I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?" Slingshot continued. "That we should keep sitting here, doing nothing? I'll tell you something, Silverbolt,if you'd cared as much as you claim you do, you'd be out there, guiding us in a rescue mission!"

Despite the increasing pressure, Silverbolt didn't break before his teammate. "Such rescue mission would be suicidal."

"Suicidal is better than nothing under these circumstances! Do you think the Decepticons are being gentle with Air Raid? Slag, we don't even know if he's still functioning! Perhaps they already melted him!"

Silverbolt hesitated, but managed to keep himself together. "That… that's not likely. The Stunticons know they need to keep him alive. I dare to assume that Motormaster won't let the other Decepticons touch him."

Slingshot snorted. "Who cares about the other Decepticons? Motorslagger's touch is more than enough to send Air Raid to the scrap yard."

Skydive turned off the computer screen and stood up. "I'm done with waiting. I'm with you on the rescue mission, Slingshot", he said before turning to the immobile form standing beside the recharge berth and staring at the offlined Stunticon. "What about you, Fireflight?"

"You are going nowhere!" Silverbolt stated, returning his teammates' attention toward him. "All of you will stay here until further notice."

Slingshot stood before him. "Oh really? And why would we do that?"

"Because I, your leader, am commanding it," Silverbolt's optics shone with that unique glimmer they had on the rare occasions he decided to make his mantle of leadership very clear.

The thick silence spread like radiation. Finally, Skydive sat again before the computer and bowed his head. "So… we wait again."

Slingshot flamed his commander with a red-hot glare but stepped back. "Yeah… and stuck with the best company," he said, looking behind his shoulder. "Your orders will be followed, _leader. _Do you have any other command for this unusual evening? What about polishing this Stunticon's frame, or pleasing his royal audios with a cradle song?"

"It's not his fault."

Silverbolt, Skydive and Slingshot turned at the same time to their formerly silent teammate. Fireflight continued staring at Wildrider with something that looked suspiciously like pity.

"What happened wasn't Wildrider's fault," he said again. "Blaming him would be not only be pointless but unfair."

"Uh-huh…" Skydive said, frowning. "Then whose fault is it?"

Fireflight sighed. "No one's… not Air Raid's, not ours… certainly not Silverbolt's. It just happened."

"How comforting," Slingshot said. "I wasn't aware you were part of this Stunticon scum bag's fan club."

Fireflight turned around and stared at Slingshot. "This scum bag, as you call him, is part of our team now. The bond with him is inside us and denying it would only be trying to fool ourselves. You feel it too, Slingshot. Why did you help him when he looked for your support back there on the battlefield?"

"I didn't—" Slingshot interrupted himself, unable to face the burden of truth. Suddenly all the Aerialbots could see Wildrider leaning on Slingshot's leg with the trust and naturalness that only the unique bond of a Combiner teammate could provide.

"And you, Skydive," Fireflight continued calmly, "why didn't you blow him to pieces when you had the chance? He was right beside you. All you had to do was pull the trigger."

Skydive averted his glance, not willing to keep staring at his teammate.

Silverbolt's tacit _thank you_ was displayed on his slight but serene smile. Then he addressed his three teammates. "There are many things we can't explain yet, but I promise you we will sort it out, together. If there's a way to reverse what happened in the Gestalt bond, I promise I'll do everything possible to make it happen. And if there isn't… well, I'll find a way! As all of you, I haven't given up on Air Raid and will never do. He's our brother and we'll bring him back home."

Slingshot waved his head toward Wildrider. "And what about him?"

"He'll stay here until this nightmare is over. We have no cells in this part of the Ark, so we'll allocate Air Raid's quarters to function as such. Whether we like it or not, we have a bond with this Stunticon now and he's our complete responsibility."

"Wonderful," Skydive said, hitting his head against the console of the computer.

Silverbolt restarted his way towards the exit. "I can't keep Prime waiting a single minute more. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Hey, what are we supposed to do if the prima donna wakes up?" Skydive said with a frown, but his only answer was a closed door.

_To be continued._

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Thank you very much for your feedback! It's very encouraging :o)  
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	6. Gangway!

_Many, but really many thanks for the amazing reviews you left for last chapter! I'm really touched with the warm welcome you have received this fic with, and considering that a fast update was requested, here you go._

_Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate for correcting this chapter in the blink of an eye._

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**Chapter 6**

**Gangway!**

"_Well? Can you repair him or not?"_

"_Um… of course I can."_

"_Then what the slag are you waiting for?"_

"_I'm assessing the damage, alright? The scans take some time and… are you planning to stay here, Motormaster? I'm going to need some space—"_

"_Slag it! Are you or are you not a nurse robot? I should call Hook instead. He was doing a better job by slicing this tin can than you are repairing him!"_

A wave of pain made Air Raid activate his only functional optic.

"I'm a Constructicon, not a nurse robot! And I'm as good as Hook… almost."

Air Raid's blurry vision recognized the green and purple robot. It was one of the Constructicons, Long Haul… Did that mean that his torment would continue?

There was somebody beside Long Haul. That slagging competitive freak… Drag Strip. Air Raid couldn't wait to have a second round with him, this time with his hands untied. Then he remembered he only had one arm left.

"I'd say there's a reason why your teammates have you carrying stuff instead of building it," Drag Strip said, sneering.

"I'm a qualified engineer and neither you nor anybody else will imply otherwise!" Long Haul snapped.

"Who was implying anything? I just said it."

Another shape appeared beside Drag Strip, his frame as shinny as the one of the yellow race car. "I'm no medic, but I would say that the Autobot's fuel lines need immediate attention. In case any of you haven't noticed, his fuel reserves are splattered all over the floor," Dead End said.

That made Long Haul turn back to his patient. "Eh, yes… of course that's what I was going to do first! Just… let me work in peace."

"Do you at least have any idea of what to do?" Drag Strip insisted. "This is a little more complicated than carrying junk around, you know?"

A strong hit to his helm made Drag Strip bend over as Motormaster positioned himself beside the berth. The still open wound on his head brought back all the memories of the previous breems to Air Raid's battered processor.

"Start repairing him. You've already wasted too much time."

Long Haul stared at Motormaster warily. "I will need some extra hands… Is it okay if I comm Scavenger?"

"No slagging way! You said you could repair this Autobot by yourself and that's what you'll do!"

"And I can, but Scavenger would be of great help! He won't say a word, I promise—"

"I don't want any of your teammates around, and that's final. Dead End will assist you."

From his place leaning beside Drag Strip, Dead End momentarily removed his attention from polishing his forearm plates and looked at his leader. "I?"

Motormaster stared at him angrily. "Yes, you! Any complaints?"

Dead End shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose not."

"Are you going to give him painkillers? 'Cause if you're not, he'll be in pain… Not that I care, but he will be screaming and that can be disturbing—"

All optics turned toward Breakdown, who was sitting on the same chair in which Air Raid had been tied before. So he was back in Wildrider's quarters… wonderful…

Breakdown certainly didn't enjoy being the sudden center of attention because he immediately lowered his gaze and started to twist his hands nervously. "I just mean… that it will hurt him because…. well, I don't know if any of you noticed that the Autobot's awake… I'm just saying it in case you hadn't noticed, of course."

That saved Breakdown but condemned Air Raid. As all the optics focused on him, he started to understand why Breakdown hated being stared at so much.

"Hey, it's true. Sleeping Ugliness is awake. What happened, Autoscum? Did you lose an arm? You shouldn't be so rough next time you play with yourself," Drag Strip said, his worried tone of voice betraying words that were supposed to be cruel.

Still, Air Raid had never taken slag from any Decepticon, even less a Stunticon. He tried to snap a proper retort, but all he could do was emit a screechy sound with his vocalizer. What a wonderful moment he had chosen to be pathetic.

The unmistakable sound of metal being gripped caught his attention, as well as his satisfaction. Motormaster had seized Drag Strip by an arm and, by the looks of it, he wasn't being gentle. Of course, big, ugly Motormouth could never be gentle, even if his life depended on it…

"Go outside and make guard," Motormaster ordered. "Take Breakdown with you. The last thing I need is you two useless idiots doing nothing but sitting on your rusted afts."

Drag Strip and Breakdown hadn't left the room yet when Air Raid felt the foreign hands all over his chest plates, foreign not only because they belonged to a Decepticon, but because they belonged to someone who wasn't part of _his _team.

_Oh frag… what the slag am I thinking? As if the Stunticons are… _"D-don't touch me…" he mumbled, making an effort to speak.

"I'm going to repair you. Stay still," Long Haul said.

"Not that it would make a difference," Dead End stated coldly. "Whether you stay still or not, your spark could cease to function any moment. Salvation is such an empty concept, almost as much as immortality."

Air Raid could feel the _'From Motormaster to Dead End: shut the frag up, I'm not in the mood for your big words'_ through the Gestalt bond. And Dead End apparently got the message because he decided to keep his vocalizer shut, thus maintaining his own spark function, at least for a little longer.

A welcome feeling of freshness started to spread through Air Raid's circuits as Long Haul connected a tube to his fuel line and started to pump whatever it was inside. "Alright, I have stopped the energon leaks, but I'll need some extra tools to repair him. I'll be right b—"

"You stay here," Motormaster said curtly.

Long Haul seemed exasperated. "Look, I can make basic repairs with the equipment I have, but you never told me I had to reattach his arm, and I don't know if I mentioned this, but I don't usually carry spare optics in my subspace compartments."

Motormaster sat on the chair that Breakdown had left empty and folded his arms across his chest. "Do what you can."

Long Haul stayed in silence for a moment but decided better than to keep arguing and focused his attention on his patient, most likely the first one he had had in all his life.

As the painkillers started to do their job and subdued him into oblivion, Air Raid was sure that his life wasn't in danger anymore. Motormaster had saved him for a reason, although Air Raid was sure that he wasn't going to like that reason, he wasn't going to like it at all.

* * *

Wildrider didn't recharge a lot. Two hours per solar cycle, sometimes three, four if he had been beaten by Motormaster the night before… but generally, resting was nothing his hyper-active processor was used to doing, or liked either. He hated tranquility, maybe because it was opposite to everything he was, or maybe because it always happened when he was alone. And he hated being alone, he hated it even more than tranquility. Were they the same thing?

That was one of the questions that had many answers, every one more confusing than the previous ones. Of course there could be tranquility with his teammates around, like the time in which they had ambushed some Autobots and Motormaster had ordered them to stay quiet until the very last moment. It had been unbearable that day, the silence… but his team was there with him, they were around, surrounding him with their company and warmth. So that was not real tranquility; it had been more like fake peace, fake silence, and that was something he definitely liked, because it meant he was not alone and that he was about to bust something up – preferably Autobots – as soon as Motormaster gave the order. That was how life worked, that was the order of things, and he liked it.

But as his systems started to reboot _– sparks, sparks… something's sparkin'… - _he didn't have clear what he liked and disliked anymore. There it was, the hateful silence, and thus the loneliness… It had to be that way, because he couldn't feel Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End or Motormaster close to him, not even through the Gestalt bond. But he wasn't alone either, because he could feel company, and not the kind of company of a stranger.

_Systems online. Energon levels 27.54%..._

"…gggh I'm hungry…" he said, with his optics still offline and disregarding any other data that his HUD provided regarding his current status. Recent memories were opening their way to his processor at the same time, a disorganized parade of images and sounds that mixed reality with fantasy without any respect for his sanity. It was a race inside his head.

But he disregarded that too. He didn't care about his recent memories, or if his energy levels were low. He was just hungry.

_Wait… that's kind of the same thing… isn't it?_

Three shadows towered him, or at least that's what his optics showed him as soon as they started to feedback visuals to his processor.

"Whoa… is this an orgy?" he said, still numb and realizing that his hands were trapped inside a thick white thing firmly attached to his midsection.

A grimace of disgust was his answer. "You'd wish…" The one that had spoken was Skydive. Wildrider didn't have to set his optics on him to know, he just knew. The bond had spoken.

So no orgy? He had been tied before, very recently, and he dared to assume other Autobots had been invading him and toying with his mind… Now that had been quite an orgy, and one he had hated.

He tried to get up but a hand positioned itself on his chest and roughly pushed him back. "Stay there, Decepticreep. Move an inch and I'll spread your pieces through the room."

"Pieces? Am I in pieces…?" Wildrider said, not remembering losing a limb but finding the image somehow funny. Motormaster had ripped off one of his arms once whilst beating him and the arm had ended up slapping Dead End's face when Motormaster threw it away… A funny, although very painful, incident.

A frenetic kick from his systems finished the rebooting process and Wildrider confirmed that he was definitely not in his room, that he definitely hadn't been beaten by Motormaster, and that those were definitely not his teammates.

Mostly because his teammates didn't point their guns toward his face, not even Motormaster.

"Heh," Wildrider giggled, "so where's the party?" He checked his battle computer only to find out that he didn't have his scattershot gun anymore. There would be no party for him.

"Oh for Cybertron's sake… would you guys mind?" Fireflight snapped at his teammates. "He's shackled and unarmed. It's not like he's going anywhere."

Skydive and Slingshot mumbled something that included the words 'slagging' and 'Stunticon scum' but lowered their weapons. Not that Wildrider cared, he knew that they weren't going to shoot him and were only trying to impress him. How he knew that piece of information was another mystery, but Wildrider quickly disregard that thought to proceed to the next one on the list pummeling his processor.

"Hey, do you have some energon in this joint?"

"Not for you," Skydive said curtly.

Wildrider pointed toward Slingshot with his foot. "Then for who? For him?"

The addressed Aerialbot scowled. "We have no energon here, so shut it."

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, then some high grade perhaps? Or a hundred bottles of tequila? That will do."

That caused him a kick to the berth he was laying on.

"Do you think this is funny, junk pile?"

Fireflight grabbed Slingshot's arm. "Calm down… he's just afraid."

"Then he shouldn't be talking all that slag! Either this fragger is the craziest bot in the Universe, or he's playing with us!"

Wildrider's vocalizer became momentarily paralyzed. _Afraid? _He was not afraid, why would he be afraid? He had been taken prisoner by Autobots before, although with the company of his teammates the experience had been a walk in the park. And okay, maybe now he was alone, but he wasn't in a cell anymore, and he didn't feel alone, or in any danger for the matter… and somehow that was because of the Aerialbots.

Dazzling lights. Deformed Autobot faces above him. His body motionless. Tendrils raping his mind.

"_Holy frag… Does that mean that this crack case is actually an Aerialbot?"_

"_The Gestalt bond seems to believe so…"_

A painful click in his processor ended the memory. The flying chunk had been right; Wildrider was afraid. It wasn't the kind of fear of facing an imminent death – he had been there many times and always managed to trick the ultimate shutdown so easily; it was the slow assimilation of a fact he had been refusing to consider ever since the first moment in which he became one with Superion, as obscene as that sounded.

_He was an Aerialbot now._

Wildrider started to laugh. It started as a soft chuckle, a snow ball that turned into hysterical laughter in a matter of seconds. Two of the Aerialbots, Fireflight and Skydive, stepped back.

"What the slag is wrong with him?" Skydive asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Slingshot said. "The fragger's losing it… even more, if such thing is possible."

Fireflight frowned and approached the berth again. "He's terrified! Don't you guys play the fool because you know it as well as I do. We all know _exactly _how he's feeling."

Another realization. That Aerialbot was right; Wildrider could feel the ties binding him to the flyboys tighter than the shackles around his hands.

He managed to stop laughing. Frag, would his teammates give him a bad time because of that or what… _Wildrider the Aerialbot_, he could almost hear Drag Strip mocking him. And he would punch him in retaliation, not very hard but right in the face because Drag Strip hated to be punched in the face…

The leftovers of his laughter found a thick wall. Suddenly _Wildrider the Aerialbot _wasn't funny anymore. It ached, a wound splattering his own lubricant over the entire world.

_I'm no slaggin' Aerialbot! _The whirlpool inside his head exploded as he jumped to his feet and impacted his head on Slingshot's chest as hard as he could, throwing the Autobot backwards. He was in the middle of the process of kicking Skydive when Fireflight grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back, returning him to the berth.

He struggled but it was very difficult to do with his arms immobilized. When a fist punched his face, he realized that being beaten up was going to make the process even more difficult.

"Calm down, Skydive! You're hurting him!"

"Didn't you see what he did to Slingshot? I'm going to show this slagger!"

More punches landed, but somehow Wildrider managed to kick Skydive right between his legs. It was such a shame that the Aerialbot was not human, otherwise that maneuver would have provided much more satisfaction.

The beating stopped when Slingshot intervened. Much to his dismay, Wildrider had barely managed to dent his chest plates. "Leave him alone, Skydive. I'll handle this Stunticon slagger."

"No one's handling anyone!" Fireflight said. "This madness stops right now! Silverbolt said that— aaargh!"

"Heh," Wildrider giggled after kicking Fireflight. "Sorry about that, my foot slipped."

"So did my arm!" Skydive snapped as he directed another punch toward Wildrider's face, but Slingshot stopped him again. Wildrider made good use of the momentary pause to roll to one side, standing up and leaning in the corner of the room. _Exit, exit, where's the exit?_

He saw the closed door opposite him, nothing but the berth, a desk and three Aerialbots in his way.

"Leave him to me! I said I'd take care of him!" Slingshot said, pushing Skydive and Fireflight aside and gesturing Wildrider to approach towards the center of the room. "You and me, Stunticon! Right here, right now!"

That was an invitation that Wildrider wasn't going to refuse. "One shall stand, one shall fall. I would've waited an eternity for this!" he said epically, mimicking the dialogue of some movie he had seen a few days before.

He tried to pounce at Slingshot, but he tripped on the desk and ended falling flat on his chest plates.

_Energon levels 25.67%_

_Uh… that's no good…_

"Wait, wait!" Fireflight said, stepping between both combatants. "This is wrong!"

"No, _this _is wrong!" Wildrider said, staring at the ceiling. "Why are all the walls here orange?"

Skydive subspaced his gun and aimed towards Wildrider. Sweet, now he was going to get shot. It was quickly turning into the weirdest day of his life by far…

"You too, Brutus?" he said, remembering a movie he had seen about humans who wore dresses.

Skydive frowned. "We don't fight defenseless enemies. Stay still."

And he fired.

Wildrider's shackles opened in a second. With his hands free, he considered busting Skydive and Fireflight up first, but they stepped aside, Fireflight reluctantly and with the assistance of his teammate. That left only one obstacle; white, red and eager to pound him.

"Behind you!" Wildrider cried. Of course, Slingshot didn't buy that, but it gave Wildrider the second he needed to activate his anti gravitational system and transform in mid air, crashing both the Aerialbot and the door in A minor, Wildrider's favorite symphony. Then he dived into into the corridor before him and forgot everything about the Autobots left behind.

His 'yeee-haa!' cry echoed through the walls – orange, always orange – as he became the fastest Ferrari on Earth. 80, 120, 200 miles per hour challenging the corridors of the Ark… Very smooth corridors, by the way, as if nobody ever raced through them. And the Autobots dared to call him insane… what the slag did they have wheels for if they didn't use them?

His radar was down. That was discouraging, but then again, it wasn't like he had Dead End's radar, and even if he had had it, he wouldn't have known how to use it. He had no idea where the exit was; the only time he had been in the Ark he had left through a hole opened by Menasor, but this time there was no Menasor and no hole, so he would have to look for an alternative unless he wanted to run out of energy revving through all those orange corridors.

Besides, there was something else troubling him, as much as he could be troubled when all his circuits were focused on gaining speed. It must have been a bug glitching somewhere in his head, but he had that very annoying feeling that he was leaving something behind, something important. He wanted to believe that every inch closer to the exit was one inch closer to his teammates, but the truth was that he felt quite the opposite.

_Wildrider the Aerialbot _appeared once again inside his mind, laughing, scowling, shrugging his shoulders… He would have to slag that other side of the mirror sometime, but he was in a hurry now.

Right after the alarms started to sound, he found two Autobots after turning into the eleventh corridor. One of them, the red, small one whose name was Cliffragger or something, agilely dodged Wildrider's onslaught and shot him in return, missing by a narrow margin. The other one, small too and yellow – but not the shining yellow of Drag Strip – wasn't that fast and got smashed. Wildrider cackled as he made a mental note to add a new sonnet to his 'Ode to my Force Field' that he had been writing for years now.

The scent of freedom arrived unmistaken to his olfactory circuits. The exit was close! He started to drive through the wall in celebration, tearing off lamps and surveillance cameras like domino pieces in a row. Unfortunately his stereo was also down, otherwise music would have turned that moment into the Kodak moment of the month.

His battle computer didn't work for slag, but his instinct did. He felt the missiles on his tail, and it was by mere inches that he managed to dodge what would have been a fatal impact. Although, had he been hit and survived, that would have been such a great addition for 'Ode to my Force Field'!

The missiles didn't hit him, but turned the corridor into a pile of debris.

"Uh-oh, end of the road," Wildrider said to himself, transforming into his bipedal form.

He turned around and was already preparing to transform again when he saw two figures emerging at the free side of the corridor.

"End of the road indeed, Decepticon," Sunstreaker said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

The other Lamborghini robot, Sideswipe, subspaced his gun. "Any last words?"

Wildrider grinned. "Yeah, actually. Have any of you ever thought about changing your paintjob to blue and white?"

Then he pounced at them.

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_If anybody is wondering about that last line from Wildrider, remember that Breakdown is also a Lamborghini and that his colours are blue and white. _

_I don't need to say which movie Wildrider was talking about first, right?_


	7. I used to be a courier ship

_Thank you guys for the amazing reviews you left me for last chapter. I really appreciate that you take the time to give me your feedback, a big encouragement to keep writing._

_Many thanks to iratepirate for beta reading and for all her support._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 7**

**I used to be a courier ship**

Soundwave never received visitors. His personal quarters were an off limits zone for most Decepticons. Whether they feared him or simply disliked him, every mech in the Nemesis base, with the obvious exceptions of his Cassettes and Megatron, avoided his company by all means. Soundwave couldn't have been more pleased with such order of things; small talk had never been his thing and, if anybody would have ever dared to try to engage him in it, they would have faced his indifference or, if he was in the mood, his unemotional and yet sadistic sense of cruelty.

But when a beep on his computer announced that someone was requesting access to his chambers, Soundwave wasn't surprised. It didn't matter that such fact was happening for the first time in millennia, the Decepticon Communications Officer's perfectly balanced personality was above any trivial emotions, and wondering why anybody would be interested in having a talk with him would have never aroused his interest even for a bit.

The identity of his visitor didn't bring him any emotion either. The only time that Soundwave had exchanged words with Motormaster regarding non official matters had been when Motormaster requested clearance to the Decepticons main computer in order to download all the data regarding Gestalt technology. Aside from that, no other personal issue had been addressed in their interactions, the relationship between both Decepticons always signed by a respectful distance. Motormaster, as his teammates, tacitly accepted the bond he had with the mech that had helped Megatron to build the Stunticons.

"Hey, it's Moto out there!" Rumble said happily, jumping from Soundwave's recharge berth and breaking his eleventh portable Playstation of the month in the process.

The Cassetticon half ran, half flew towards the door. Soundwave didn't stop him; Rumble had a special affection for the Stunticons and considered them as his children. Having acquired the terrestrial vehicles that would become the Stunticons was, in Rumble's own opinion, the greatest thing he had ever done.

"What's up, Moto?" Rumble said as he opened the door, completely oblivious to the fact that Motormaster had slaughtered mechs five times Rumble's size for calling him names considerably less offensive than that one. But whether by the memories of his past with Rumble or by respect for Soundwave, Motormaster had never laid a finger on the Cassetticon, or on any of his siblings for the matter.

And this time wouldn't be the exception. Motormaster ignored Rumble and stared at Soundwave, who didn't have to use his telepathic abilities to know that something was disturbing the Stunticon leader.

"Rumble, leave," Soundwave intoned.

"Aw, but boss!"

Soundwave sent a firm yet gentle reminder of his command through the link he shared with his Cassettes.

"Man, life sucks…" Rumble complained, shaking his head and slowly heading toward the corridor outside.

As soon as the door closed, Soundwave pointed to the chair beside his. He had never been a robot of preambles and he knew that his visitor also preferred to go straight to the point.

Motormaster sat heavily. Whatever disturbance he was feeling didn't make him fall into hesitation.

"There's a situation I need to recreate," he said, opening a panel on his wrist.

Soundwave turned to the screen of the computer. "Download the schematics."

As the files started to download from Motormaster's data banks to the computer, Soundwave realized that his prognostic of 88.74% indicating that Motormaster would follow that course of action had been accurate. The files included a thorough reconstruction of the events that had led to Wildrider and Air Raid having a dysfunctional merge with the opposite Gestalt. There was also an approximation of the energy readings displayed during the fight between the Stunticons and the Aerialbots.

"What are my chances?" Motormaster asked.

Soundwave analyzed the data and made the proper calculations in exactly 3.7 seconds. "Probabilities of success: 1.38 percent."

Motormaster snorted. "That's better than nothing."

"One hundred and fifty seven thousand volts of electricity are required, colliding with Menasor's sword at three hundred and twenty one miles per hour at an angle of eighty seven degrees. Climatic conditions must also be identical."

"I can have all that fixed, then the Gestalt glitch can be reversed."

"Negative."

Motormaster stared at Soundwave.

"Dysfunction happened due to a mixture of physical conditions and unique mental patterns in the subjects involved. Level of petra-cycle activity in their processors during the event: unable to be calculated."

"You could."

Soundwave didn't reply.

"You are a telepath, you should be able to read the activity of their processors during and before the moment of the incident. I already have the Aerialbot functional and ready for you to smash his brains, and I plan to get Wildrider back as soon as possible."

Soundwave pushed the button on his shoulder. "Laserbeak, eject."

Motormaster frowned but didn't flinch a mechano millimeter when Laserbeak emerged in Cassette mode and inserted himself in one of the computer's slots.

A video file began to play. The angle was not the best, but Drag Strip and Breakdown were more than clear from whatever place near the ceiling in which Laserbeak had been hidden.

"—_your fault, all of it! You slagged two of your teammates in one day and all because you couldn't come clean and admit it was you who slagged that throne! You lying scum, it should have been you under Bruticus' foot! No, it should be you that merged with the Aerialscums!"_

"_I… I'll get Wildrider back… but… do you have to stare at me like that?"_

"_I can't understand how you can even stare at yourself! Do you think I didn't feel your fragging guilt infesting the bond and wrecking Menasor even before we merged? Motormaster felt it too! It's just a matter of time before he comes and has your head for this!"_

"_I'll arre… arraign… arrang… I'll fix all this mess! I promise that I—"_

"_Frag off!"_

Soundwave stopped the recording that Laserbeak had obtained some breems ago outside the Repair Bay. Allowing the file to continue would have been pointless.

"Specific disturbance within the Gestalt bond made it vulnerable," Soundwave stated. He wasn't a Combiner, but he perfectly understood the ties that bonded a family unit.

He felt Motormaster's rage renewing, all focused on Breakdown, an uncomfortable reminder of Soundwave's own mistake. Following Megatron's instructions, Soundwave had programmed Motormaster to be cruel and unemotional. He had completely succeeded in the first item, but the terrestrial vessel that had sheltered the Stunticon leader's spark had corrupted his basic programming and Motormaster, as the rest of the Stunticons, had developed a personality easy to fall into extreme emotions. In the case of Motormaster, such emotion was sadism.

"Gestalt bond's vulnerability also caused by Wildrider's structural damage," Soundwave added, highlighting on the screen of his computer some of the data that Motormaster had brought. "Epidermal integrity compromised by 25.65 percent, force field temporary deactivated and energy levels at 47.86 percent."

Motormaster twisted his mouth in a display of anger, this time directed toward himself. Soundwave had never approved of the violent way in which Motormaster disciplined his subordinates, but would never have thought about interfering with it either. By highlighting Wildrider's damage at the moment of the incident, all he was doing was proving how futile it would be to attempt Motormaster's plan.

"So…" Motormaster said, "you're saying that recreating the incident that caused the glitch in the Gestalt bond is nearly impossible."

Soundwave returned Laserbeak to his chest compartment. "Affirmative."

Motormaster rested his chin on his fist, for the first time during the night showing signals of deep disturbance. Once again, Soundwave didn't have to read his thoughts to feel his torture. He knew how the Stunticon's mind worked; after all, Soundwave had had Motormaster's processor in his hands, literally.

"Alternative suggested," Soundwave said after a moment of silence.

Motormaster stared at him with something resembling hope, but also fear.

Soundwave turned off the screen. "Reprogram Aerialbot Air Raid and overrun his Autobot programming. Difficulty of the procedure: null. Subject already belongs to Stunticon Gestalt bond."

For a moment, Motormaster's expression was hard to read, perhaps because it was the first time in which Soundwave had seen him so agape. Finally, he slowly shook his head in denial, followed by a much more abrupt movement. "No… no slagging way, that's not even a possibility," he said, standing up as he couldn't remain motionless anymore. "I won't have a flying Autobot as my teammate, no slagging way!"

Soundwave calculated the possibility of Motormaster resorting to violence to be at 67.45 percent. If that happened, Soundwave would have to intervene. Due to the similarity of their physical strength, a normal fight would prove to be fatal to the integrity of Soundwave's quarters, but he had his own ways of stopping a rival that size.

But against the prognostics, Motormaster stopped and managed to calm himself when he seemed to be about to punch the nearest wall. Soundwave nodded curtly, witnessing a small but important sign of maturity in the still very young Stunticon leader.

"That 1.38 percent you said… I'll take my chances with it. I'll find the way to recreate every slagging detail, as insignificant as it may be."

Soundwave stood up as well. "You will require assistance."

Motormaster narrowed his optics. Soundwave opened the tendrils of his mind, ever so slightly, unable to resist the pleasure of feeling the Stunticon' anguish. Pain, in any of his forms, was something that the Communications Officer always had found hard to resist. And there it was, as bare as Motormaster's fury, clenched as fists that were unable to fix anything with simple violence.

"Your assistance," Motormaster said, words hurting him as painful reminders of his failure. "Can I count on it?"

So the brutal leader of the Stunticons was learning to overcome his immaturity. Learning always shook hands with suffering, it couldn't be any other way. Pride couldn't always remain standing, not when logic was involved. There was a reason why Megatron kept the Stunticons functioning and under his personal protection, and it was not precisely because of the paternal complex Starscream always accused him of having regarding the Gestalt he had built with his own hands.

Logic dictated a negative answer. The odds of success were minimal, and the resources and risks too big to be calculated with reliable statistics. But Soundwave didn't hesitate to accept, going against logic without a doubt because he, among all the Cybertronians that were not Combiners, understood perfectly the meaning of that unique bond that transcended any other. In Motormaster's place, he also would have gone for the minimal percentage if that implied the possibility of retrieving one member of his family.

* * *

Silverbolt ran a hand over his helm, trying with that simple gesture to insert all the self-confidence he was lacking of. He had always disliked meetings with the Autobot High Command, mostly because he truly believed he didn't belong there. Neither his experience nor his bravery had anything to do with the high achievements mechs like Prowl, Ironhide or Jazz had, not to mention the Prime himself.

He was just a low profile bot, an inexperienced guy who would have preferred to spend his life as a courier ship and definitely not in a position of leadership he had never requested, even less gained. Optimus Prime had named him leader of the Aerialbots to increase his confidence and give him something else to think about other than his fear of heights, but sometimes the burden was too heavy to bear, sometimes Silverbolt felt like he had the weight of the Universe on his shoulders.

But never like that day, in which the Universe was literally making fun of him and giving him its ugliest face. For the first time in his life, Silverbolt was making a real effort to keep pace with a conversation that not only affected him directly, but in which he was expected to make some important decisions, unless he would allow the others to do it for him, of course…

And that was precisely what seemed to be happening, as apparently neither Ironhide nor Prowl had taken into consideration the slight detail that they were deciding on an Aerialbot matter and the only Aerialbot present there was Silverbolt.

"Thing's simple," Ironhide said matter-of-factly, "we dismantle the 'Con and release the Universe of one of its worse mistakes."

"That would stop us from negotiating with the Decepticons. We need Wildrider alive in order to retrieve Air Raid."

Ironhide turned to the white and black robot sitting beside him. "And you actually believe that Megatron will accept a deal just like that, Prowl? He'll give us Air Raid back, alright… in pieces! Come on, we all know how the 'Cons work! Offer them a hand and they will take all the servos. Negotiating a prisoner exchange is out of the question! Our only choice is to break into the Nemesis, release Air Raid and use the crazy Stunticon for spare parts," Ironhide hasn't finished speaking when he was already turning toward his leader, who had been strangely silent during the meeting.

"We will not resource to violence," Optimus Prime finally spoke. "The matter we are addressing does not only concern our conflict with the Decepticons, but the integrity of an Autobot Combiner Team. Silverbolt, I'm very interested to know your opinion."

There it was, the cue he hadn't requested… His opinion was perfectly clear, at least to himself. His priority was to retrieve Air Raid first and fix the Gestalt bond later. How to make it happen, however, was the question. Like his teammates, he was very uncomfortable with a Stunticon forced into his family, but he wasn't willing to let him be dismantled either. Combiners didn't learn about loyalty to their teammates; they were created with it, embedded into their processors as fixedly as their personality components. It was as Fireflight had said; Wildrider was part of them now. Denying it would be the most pointless thing ever. However, Silverbolt had very little idea of how to act concerning that unwanted piece of truth.

"My team has changed," Silverbolt said, doing his best to hide his insecurity. "How? I'm not exactly sure… but it did and, unlike you, I cannot see this Decepticon as a regular Decepticon. He's part of my team now, as much as I dislike that fact."

Ironhide snorted. "I wonder if the Decepticons think that way concerning Air Raid."

Silverbolt cast Ironhide one of his very rare angry looks. "I haven't given up on Air Raid, if that's what you're suggesting. Rescuing him is my main priority!"

Ironhide seemed taken aback by that sudden outburst, and he was not the only one. As he lowered his gaze, Silverbolt realized that it was the first time he had yelled at a fellow Autobot.

"Nobody is suggesting anything, Silverbolt," Optimus Prime reassured. "Just as Air Raid is your priority, so is he ours. There is no way that I will allow one of my Autobots to remain as a prisoner of the Decepticons."

"Another reason why we should organize a strike team and attack the Nemesis at once, take the 'Cons by surprise now that we can," Ironhide said.

Optimus Prime shook his head slightly. "Megatron must be expecting us to make such a move. Taking the Decepticons by surprise in their own headquarters is nearly impossible. The situation we are dealing with is unique, and thus our response shall be. Before taking a course of action, we must find out as much as possible about what happened. As Silverbolt said, both Air Raid and Wildrider were forced into a Combiner team to which they don't belong, and yet, due to the Gestalt bond, they are as much a part of it as any other of their current teammates. If this is true, I think the Stunticons will do what is necessary to keep Air Raid alive."

Silverbolt felt a shiver running through every single part of his wiring. Now that the Gestalt bond had been reformatted, he didn't have any way to know if Air Raid was still functioning and, if he was, what his status was. Being part of the Stunticons Gestalt was no guarantee of his safety. After all, even though they wouldn't dare destroy Wildrider, Slingshot and Skydive would have no problems in beating their new teammate into junk. A similar process could be happening with the Stunticons at that exact moment, with the big difference that the Stunticons were a bunch of psychopaths and lacked of anything resembling a code of honour when dealing with an enemy. Air Raid could be dead at that very same moment and nothing would change; the Aerialbot Gestalt would keep functioning in perfect harmony despite its obvious anomaly, Air Raid's place occupied by a lunatic Stunticon and the Universe would be perfectly okay with that.

"We take the Gestalt technology as something so normal, and yet we don't understand a bit about it," Jazz said, another usually talkative bot that had chosen to remain silent until that moment.

All the optics focused on him, as every Autobot knew from experience that when Jazz spoke, it was very wise to listen.

"This Gestalt bond," he continued, staring at Silverbolt, "must be something really powerful, more than any programming. Wildrider is one piece of Decepticon lunacy indeed, not to mention your team's sworn enemy, and yet he was your first concern, 'Bolt. I'm not saying you're neglecting Air Raid, but your own essence is forcing you to acknowledge Wildrider first. I agree that we should figure this thing out before taking any course of action, but yeah, we have to make it very clear to everybody here that Wildrider is not an ordinary prisoner."

Silverbolt's lubricant froze. Jazz was right. He claimed to be concerned about the fate of Air Raid, _his teammate_, but so far all his actions had been focused on protecting Wildrider. The Gestalt bond was making very clear who his real teammate was.

"Prowl," Optimus Prime said before Silverbolt's thoughts continued destroying him, "a thorough investigation of what happened during the battle between the Aerialbots and the Stunticons must begin immediately. Organize a research team with Wheeljack, Ratchet and Perceptor, and emphasize the need for immediate results. As we all know, the Decepticons developed the Gestalt technology and trounce us with thousands of vorns of experience which we don't possess. In order to counterattack this disadvantage, we have to act fast. Silverbolt, your assistance as well as Hot Spot's will be required. You two are the only Autobot Gestalt leaders on Earth and we will need every bit of your experience regarding your unique condition."

Silverbolt nodded, even though his lack of self-confidence was reaching its lowest levels. He knew he couldn't have predicted what happened, even less have done anything to stop it during that moment of the battle, but he couldn't help but think that it had been his fault. Air Raid's life, and now also Wildrider's, were his complete responsibility… leadership was definitely a burden he had never requested, and one he currently hated.

"What about the 'Con?" Ironhide grumbled. "Are we gonna leave him rolling freely through the Ark?"

"As Jazz pointed out, Wildrider is not an ordinary prisoner. He will be under the Aerialbots watch. Being part of their team as he is now, there's no better solution."

The accuracy of such statement was about to be challenged by the sound of alarms, immediately followed by a beep on Optimus Prime's comm link.

"Yes, Red Alert?"

The normally agitated voice of the paranoid Autobot Security Officer sounded even more agitated. Silverbolt had a bad feeling immediately.

"_Prime, we have a situation!"_

Silverbolt hid his face between his hands. He didn't have to hear more to know that his new teammate would be cause and consequence of every disturbance at the Ark from that moment on.

_To be continued._

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_And I leave this chapter with the same cliffhanger I left last one. Sorry about that, but we will know what happened with Wildrider in the next update._

_Thank you very much for reading and I wish you the best for the holidays :o) _


	8. How 'mortifrying'

_I planned to update a lot during the holidays but at the end I got trapped in partying, buying things that I definitely don't need, putting up weight and getting wasted with cheap high grade energon. But anyway, here's my first update of the year. Many thanks to iratepirate for betaining – really, my English has improved a lot since she's helping me with my grammar – and to all of you for reading my stories. Let's have a wonderful year, everyone :o)_

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**Chapter 8**

**How **_**mortifrying**_

_Drip… drip… drip…_

Silverbolt very quickly learned to hate the lonely but constant drip of water or whatever liquid was falling constantly at the back of the room – why in the world was something dripping inside the Ark, for starters? The sound itself was annoying, but what disturbed Silverbolt the most was that that simple sound was attracting all the attention of his wayward new teammate.

"Wildrider…" Silverbolt forced himself to sound polite.

When he didn't get an answer for the third time in a row he raised his voice considerably. "Wildrider!"

That gained him two purple, vivid optics fixing on him. As for how long they would remain that way, Silverbolt was afraid it wouldn't be enough.

"I ask you again. Would you mind telling me what happened out there?"

"What do you think, chunk lips? I wasn't exactly trying to stay," Wildrider answered as he struggled with the handcuffs restraining him – again. Being chained would rate high on any Cybertronian's hate list, but Silverbolt realized that Wildrider hated it even more. His fame of being restless was obviously an understatement.

But despite his words, Wildrider's tone of voice hadn't been aggressive. Silverbolt felt a little trace of hope, although he didn't even know what in the world he could be hopeful for.

He sat on the crate in front of Wildrider. "Red Alert's report states that you attacked seven Autobots, injuring three of them and causing a considerable amount of damage to the structure of the Ark—"

"Seven? Like the seven dwarves? Nah, I don't think so… 'Sides, they attacked me first."

Wildrider was very damaged indeed, one side of his face dented and his left shoulder shattered and burned with the trademark of Sideswipe's rifle, but Silverbolt was very aware that he could not trust in the word of a Stunticon, no matter if said Stunticon was his teammate now. From experience, he knew that the existence of distrust in the core of his own team was unbearable. It had happened once when his teammates has developed a blind admiration for the Decepticon Seekers and had even considered switching sides, but not even then had Silverbolt felt so frustrated. His teammates were reasonable and reliable. Wildrider, on the other hand, was dangerous, a lunatic and perhaps manipulative. For a fleeting moment he felt bad for Motormaster, who had to deal with such a teammate on a daily basis.

"This is not a matter of who attacked who," he said, using all of his patience. "Do you have any idea of how close you were to being terminated? If Skydive and Fireflight hadn't arrived to control the situation, Primus knows the twins would have destroyed you without any second thought."

Wildrider shrugged, one of the spikes of his head falling with the slight movement. "Your flyboys only arrived to slag me first. And what do you care, anyway?"

That was a question that Silverbolt couldn't even answer to himself. "I… That doesn't matter. I don't know how well you are able to focus but you need to understand two things: you are going to remain here for some time, and during that time you need to behave, otherwise there's no way I can keep protecting you."

"Mmm… that was three things."

Silverbolt dimmed his optics. Patience, patience… where could he find patience? "Do you have any idea of how hard it was to convince Optimus Prime to not return you to the brig?"

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders again, sparks kept jumping from the big wound on the left one. "I hate the brig," he said as if he were talking to himself.

"Then a little cooperation on your part would be very appreciated. Look, Wildrider, I'm trying to figure out what happened in both our Gestalts, but in order to do that I will need time and tranquility, and I can't have either of them if I have to keep saving you from the other Autobots who are calling for a piece of you."

"They can have that one," Wildrider said, waving with his head toward his fallen spike. "And trust me, you don't want tranquility. It sucks."

Another drip of water attracted the volatile attention of Wildrider. As much as it seemed that the Stunticon could actually hold a conversation, Silverbolt wasn't sure how much of it actually stayed in his unbalanced processor. If what Wheeljack had said about Wildrider's mental status was true, then Silverbolt's task of actually getting to him would be twice as difficult, if not more. He decided to go straight to the point.

"You do realize what happened, don't you Wildrider? You understand that you… are part of our team now."

That was definitely more interesting than the drop of water because Wildrider returned his attention to Silverbolt, and this time for good. "Yeah, and by the way, your welcome party sucked, nothing but a bunch of Autobots blowing my mind, _and _I didn't like it."

"Yes, about that… I'm truly sorry if that disturbed you, but it had to be done. We are all trying to understand what happened in order to reverse it, so—"

"Reverse it? Do you mean I could return to my teammates?" Wildrider hurried to say, his expression more focused than it had been during the entire conversation. So, despite his lunacy, he understood what was happening and his only priority was to return to his team. Good, that gave Silverbolt a way to get to him.

"Yes, that's exactly what I meant. You're not a prisoner here, Wildrider. You are here because… because it couldn't be any other way. As you know, Gestalt teams were built to remain together. Separating them it's just… not natural."

"Yeah, like Megatron making out with Optimus Prime."

Silverbolt tried to get rid of the image in his head. "Rrright… so you see now why I need your cooperation? I want my teammate back as much as you want to return to yours. We have a common goal, do you agree?"

"Hell yeah."

"And in order to achieve such goal, I need you to stay quiet, or at least out of trouble. Trying to escape again would mean damaging… our team, not to mention that all the Autobots would be on your tail."

Wildrider frowned and looked over his shoulder, trying to have a clearer image of his aft. "Um, no… that wouldn't be good. I'm saving _this _for a Seeker, preferably Thundercracker."

That was another image that Silverbolt didn't want to think about. "Can I count, then, on your cooperation? I already talked to my teammates and they agree to do their best to try to have a civilized relationship with you, but they will react accordingly if you provoke them. Do we have a deal?"

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders, short circuits happening again. "Hey, you're the boss. I don't kick their bearings, they don't kick mine. Sounds okay to me."

Silverbolt sighed and activated his comm link. "Ratchet, you may enter."

"Hey, what's with the Hatchet guy?" Wildrider said, struggling with his shackles again.

"Calm down, he's just going to repair you. You sustained heavy damage, and from I can see you were damaged before…"

"I'm not damaged, I'm toxic."

The door opened and Ratchet stepped in, a laser scalpel in hand and a very unfriendly look on his face. "What's with all this waiting, Silverbolt? Did you know that I have three injured Autobots in the Repair Bay at this very moment thanks to this nut case?" he said, pointing the laser scalpel toward Wildrider.

"None of them seriously damaged," Silverbolt calmly said.

"Oh, you think? Tell that to Bumblebee!"

"Yes! Got the shortstuff good!" Wildrider said.

Silverbolt fidgeted uncomfortably and tried to ignore Wildrider's remark. "Ah, yes… but First Aid and Wheeljack are working on him, as far as I know. I need your expertise here, Ratchet. I'm no medic but I can tell Wildrider is in very bad shape."

Ratchet approached the bench Wildrider was sitting on and acknowledged him with a frown. "You don't say… By the way, and just for the record, I want to make it clear that the only reason I'm here is because Optimus Prime ordered it."

Wildrider giggled. "You don't happen to have an extra shoulder, do you Doc? Or a pelvis? Hook always carries pelvis plates in his subpockets."

Ratchet seemed to be seriously considering whether to repair his patient or finish him off, but his medical oath won the battle, as it always did.

Silverbolt sighed and leaned on the wall, folding his arms across his chest. It was going to be a long day, the first of many. He didn't have memories of his days as a courier ship, but damn, how he missed them…

* * *

The Nemesis was silent during night shifts, nothing strange because at that time most of the Decepticons were recharging. But aside from that, Breakdown had always considered the bottom of the sea like some sort of eternal night. It was always dark down there, just as it was in space, even though the only time he had been in space it had been through the Space Bridge and everything had been too messy and dizzying to enjoy the provided tranquilities of the infinite void.

He had heard that night was the best ally of stealth, so he intensely hoped that such would be the case as he sneaked as silently as he could through the corridor. He repressed a shiver when he caught sight of the security camera. Its damn red light was off, but it still bothered Breakdown like the dormant eye of a beast ready to slag him at the first chance.

And the beast was pretending to sleep, indeed, as Breakdown realized when he almost collided against a very familiar frame whose owner stared at him with absolutely no sympathy at all.

It was a miracle that Breakdown didn't lubricate himself out of pure fear.

"C-commander…" he stuttered.

Breakdown was the only Stunticon who called Motormaster that, but only when he was nervous – which happened practically every time he was in the presence of his infamous leader. He was also sure that Motormaster knew that piece of information and that he didn't like it. Breakdown wondered how many times he had been beaten just for trying to be respectful.

Motormaster scowled, casting an irate glare toward the adjacent corridor, as if he knew Breakdown's intended destination.

_Not the Launching Tower, I was definitely NOT heading toward the Launching Tower! _Breakdown pleaded internally to whoever, and then he realized with terror that the only one there was Motormaster.

When a massive grey hand closed around his neck, Breakdown was sure that Motormaster would give him the beating of his life. It was as Drag Strip had said, nothing but a matter of time before he would receive his punishment, and Breakdown knew perfectly well that Motormaster never left any mistake unpunished.

But no fist impacted him, no leg sent him flying through the corridor. Instead, two purple orbs stabbed him viciously, so close to his face that Breakdown was sure his spark would collapse out of pure panic.

"Last time I checked you had already fulfilled your quota of very stupid mistakes for a day. Try another one and you won't even make it to the Repair Bay."

Breakdown's fuel froze. What was he supposed to say now? That he was on his way to the Ark to attempt a suicidal mission and rescue Wildrider? That guilt was corroding him so much that he couldn't stand being himself? Both truths were unbearable, and honestly he didn't know which one was more illogical. But that was exactly what truth was, a multi-tendril fragger with no respect for anybody's sanity. Having an Aerialbot as his teammate was proof enough.

The moment to come clean had arrived, not that Motormaster didn't know, but perhaps he would give him some credit for speaking his tormented spark out before Motormaster ripped it from his chest.

"I.. I…"

"You will take care of Dead End's shift, starting now. Since you don't give a slag about your recharging cycle, I'll assume you just don't need it all."

So Motormaster didn't want to hear. It was much more than a simple lie now; if Breakdown openly admitted his responsibility in the throne incident, and therefore in the consequent failure in the Gestalt bond, Motormaster would have to punish him – and fiercely, because Motormaster didn't allow his teammates to lie to him. But Breakdown suddenly had it very clear that his leader had his processor saturated with far heavier problems. It wasn't tacit forgiveness; Motormaster would make sure to punish him, perhaps later rather than sooner, but it would happen. The thought was not reassuring but at least it returned Breakdown to more familiar territory.

He didn't know why, but that treacherous calm before the storm gave him the courage – or stupidity – to not take the hint and just walk away.

"You should have that attended to," he said, pointing toward Motormaster's still injured forehead, almost touching it.

For a moment, Motormaster didn't react, but when he did Breakdown regretted his attempt of comradeship with the wrong teammate.

Breakdown groaned when his face was impacted against the wall, more by surprise than by actual pain. Motormaster was not being as rough as he could be.

"This fragging glitch happened for many reasons, not just for whatever pitiful disruption you could have caused in the Gestalt, so stop giving yourself so much credit and frag off. The last thing I need is more of your pathetic remorse corrupting us."

Breakdown nodded, or at least that's what he tried to do. Motormaster released him and pushed him away, almost throwing him to the floor with the brusque movement.

Breakdown staggered but hurried to leave. Motormaster was certainly very disturbed, as disturbed as Breakdown had never seen him before. For a moment, Breakdown thought that whatever was troubling his own processor was very small compared with what Motormaster was going through. That alone should have been enough to make Breakdown feel slightly sorry for his leader, but another thought took over. Beyond everything else, Motormaster was being troubled by that one painful thing he would never admit.

He was worried for Wildrider.

* * *

When Breakdown arrived at Wildrider's quarters, the first thing he noticed was how good Dead End was when he pretended he was reading. Datapad before optical visor, one leg nonchalantly crossed above the other, a relaxed and neutral stance… all a lie.

"How's the Autobot doing?" Breakdown asked the useless question. The uncomfortable intruder was still in stasis lock, firmly restrained against the berth.

"Not dead," was the nonchalant reply. "Is curiosity the reason for your presence here or did you fail to realize that you are early for your guard shift?"

"I'm here to relieve you," Breakdown said. "Did you know that Motormaster is mounting guard at the end of the corridor?"

"I noticed, another reason why permanent vigilance over this Aerialbot is completely pointless."

Breakdown walked toward the berth and stood beside the off lined Air Raid. "Long Haul did a good job, patched him up pretty good."

"Not that it makes any difference in the end."

Breakdown looked over his shoulder and saw Dead End standing up and starting to head towards the door.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You already are."

"Yes, but what I mean is that… this Autobot… would it be difficult for you to shoot him right in the head, you know, like right now?"

Dead End turned around and stared at him, making Breakdown feel uncomfortable. "If I cared enough, I wouldn't have problems in accelerating his unavoidable journey to the junk yard. Isn't that what we are supposed to do with all Autobots?"

"But the Gestalt bond says otherwise… right? Concerning this Autobot, I mean."

"'_Make them hate the Autobots and everything they stand for', _remember? As pointless and ridiculous as it is, it's embedded into our programming."

Breakdown forced himself to stand Dead End's stare. "You have never bought that, and well, _this _is no Autobot anymore."

Dead End seemed to think he had tortured his teammate enough with direct optic contact and averted his gaze. "Perhaps not right now, but who cares under which sigil he will rust? My advice is to stop torturing yourself with possibilities that will lead to the same result. Motormaster has a plan, pointless as it is, but at least it will convince him this is a not reversible situation."

That's all that Dead End said before leaving the room. Breakdown wasn't surprised when he noticed his teammate taking the direction of Drag Strip's quarters. In his own personal way, Dead End was also suffering the current disturbance, and just as his other teammates, he didn't want to be alone.

* * *

Against all his prognostics, Air Raid returned from his forced stasis lock feeling no pain at all. That was a bet he had lost against himself, and one he didn't mind, of course.

The initial analysis his HUD displayed about his status reported very positive surprises. Most of his structural damage had been repaired, including his arm, which was nicely attached to his frame again. Little miracles could happen, even in the core of the Decepticon base.

He was still a one-optic bot, though, but he could handle that. He wasn't as in love with his looks like Slingshot and Skydive were of their own; besides, he had more important problems to think about than his outer appearance.

Like the Decepticon he had sitting beside his berth, an image that wasn't as bad as it should have been under normal circumstances. But normality was something that Air Raid had already renounced, so Breakdown watching him seemed as ordinary as some insane programming reminding him all the time that he was a Stunticon now.

_Crazy fraggin' life…_

Although Breakdown was not exactly watching him. He was sitting on a chair, slightly hunched and clicking the pieces of some kind of spherical puzzle. Somehow Air Raid knew that Breakdown had done and undone that puzzle many times during the past few hours.

"I wasn't aware you were into children's games."

Breakdown startled, almost dropping the sphere. He cast a quick glance at Air Raid, only to immediately fixate it on the nearest wall.

"I'm not, I was just bored… What do you care, anyway? It's not your business."

Air Raid couldn't help but feel a small, yet sick, satisfaction. He had always known that that Stunticon was some piece of unsecure slagger and torturing him, even slightly, seemed like a little light at the end of the tunnel.

"Hey, I'm here, Stunticon. Are you talking to that wall or what? Look at me!"

Breakdown grimaced. Yep, another small triumph.

"I'm not talking to you," he grumbled.

"Then I must have been infected with your team's lunacy because I could swear you are exercising that poor vocalizer of yours."

Breakdown frowned and confronted Air Raid's stare again. "You… shut up, you! You're the prisoner here, remember? You are in no position to talk to me like that!"

He may have only had one optic left, but Air Raid would make good use of it. His optical sensors zoomed in, minuscule machinery humming and making that Stunticon its target. It worked beautifully because Breakdown bowed his head and awkwardly manipulated the spherical puzzle as he muttered something about Motormaster cracking two optics instead of one.

Air Raid smirked with his newest victory.

"Why don't you like to be stared at?"

Air Raid was surprised at himself; those were not precisely the words he had intended to keep up his 'bothering the Stunticon' hobby. Even tied, even subdued and weakened, his first… no, his _only_ priority should have been to pick a fight with that dirt-kisser scum.

Breakdown seemed surprised too at that sudden interest in himself, but he hid behind his shrugged shoulders again. "I don't… Mind your own business, Autobot!"

"You must have one hell of an inferiority complex. And I mean a huge one, considering how wrecked the rest of your team is."

That felt like a self inflicted punch, but Air Raid did his best to ignore the feeling and went on. "Do you know what humans say about guys who can't stand being stared at? There's this interesting theory—"

A strong kick shook the berth, making every circuit in Air Raid's numb body remember pain.

"I don't care about humans and their theo… ther… theorems! You shut up now or I'll make you!"

Air Raid smirked. "Mph, I highly doubt it. See, your leader seems very interested in keeping me online, I got that right. So, in case you short-circuited moron didn't understand it, you can't hurt me."

Breakdown hesitated, but he finally slumped in his chair with a grimace of impotence. Slag, it was _so easy _to bother that junk piece! Air Raid wished he could have enjoyed the moment as much as it deserved, but unfortunately his traitor of a programming kept sending him erratic signals. That was not an ordinary Decepticon he was messing with.

"Do you have energon here?" Air Raid said after a moment of silence, his desires to keep fighting momentarily being left aside.

Breakdown had dropped the sphere and was rolling it slightly with his foot. "Do you see a dispenser nearby?"

"Well, you should get me some. My energon levels are very low."

Breakdown turned his chair around, giving his back to Air Raid. A very well shaped back, by the way. It was very curious how that Stunticon was such a wreck of insecurities when he had the best looks in his team. Not that Air Raid cared, of course.

"I'm not your butter," Breakdown grumbled in low voice.

Air Raid frowned, his right brow sparkling due to the lack of an optic. "_Butter? _What's wrong with you and words? Do you have a glitch in your vocabulary banks or what?"

Breakdown hunched even more and mumbled something. Air Raid realized that he was comming someone; certainly one of his teammates, definitely not Motormaster.

After some seconds, Breakdown nodded to himself and stood up, heading toward the back wall. "I meant _butler_."

Air Raid looked at him suspiciously. "Where are you going?"

Breakdown opened a small panel, half hidden by metal containers and a pile of colorful objects of suspiciously human manufacture.

"It seems that you're right. You need fuel to keep living," Breakdown said, extracting from the panel a cube of glowing energon.

"Oh, and you just made that discovery by yourself? Besides, I thought you said you had no energon here."

Breakdown approached Air Raid and put the cube on the berth, right beside the Aerialbot's head. "I said there was no dispenser here."

Air Raid's systems tingled with delight at the sight of the vital fuel, but almost immediately impatience took over him. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Air Raid snorted. "Am I supposed to absorb this by osmosis or what? Untie me!"

Breakdown looked aside. "Yeah, so you can try your heroic escape. I wasn't created yesterday, Autobot!"

"Do you have another solution, then? Are you going to grab my head and fuel me tenderly?"

The Stunticon hesitated, obviously not attracted to that possibility. He turned around and hunched.

"Oh, for Cybertron's sake!" Air Raid exploded. "Do you have to call your morbid buddy for advice all the fraggin' time? What? Do you also ask him how to lubricate your valves?"

Breakdown startled and turned around, anger making him forget about his dislike to lock optics with anything that had life. "Of course not! My lubrication valves are entirely my own business and… How the heck did you know I was comming Dead End?"

Air Raid would have shrugged his shoulders if he could have. "It's kind of obvious. Even if I didn't belong to your team now, I would have figured it out by myself. You completely depend on him. Have you heard about a little something called independence?"

"_Indecence?" _

"Independence, you fool! Even though being a Combiner robot, we are still individuals, you know?"

"You… you'll stop playing the smart aft with me, you hear? I already knew that!"

"And I thought Fireflight was a lost cause…" Air Raid growled.

The shackles around his wrists snapped open. He didn't have time to feel surprised by his sudden freedom, though; almost immediately, he had Breakdown's laser pistol pointing right at his recently reattached arm, forcing him to seriously contain his intentions of attempting to escape. Breakdown wouldn't kill him, but he would have no problems in incapacitating him again.

So Air Raid sighed and sat on the berth slowly, being careful not to make any impulsive movement and hating himself for the same reason. He seized the energon cube and started to empty it.

"So why do you have energon here?" he said after drinking half the cube. "Are you 'Cons so desperate that you hide fuel in your own quarters? I've heard that your last energon raids were a failure, but this is too much."

Breakdown only straightened his stance in response, keeping both his stare and his aim fixated on Air Raid's shoulder.

_Yeah, don't look at me pal… but that doesn't mean I can't keep staring at you. _"Mmmh, either that or you keep fuel for emergency situations, such as Big Bad Motormouth making you starve as punishment every time you slag things up. Geez, and foolish me believed that he only beat you… I guess Motorslagger can get really creative when he slags you all."

"Shut up."

"Truth hurts, huh?" Air Raid said, finishing his energon ration.

Breakdown waved his head towards the open shackles. "Lie down."

Air Raid didn't obey immediately, pondering his chances. What possibilities did he have of defeating an armed and completely functional Decepticon? Even with his recent refueling, practically none. And even if he made it, he wouldn't make it through whoever was outside guarding the corridor.

With something between a growl and a sigh, he returned his back to the berth and shackled his right hand himself, not resisting when Breakdown did the same with the left one. All he knew was that he wouldn't be that lenient with any other Decepticon.

_Fraggin' Gestalt bond, fraggin' slag-sucker…_

"How did you 'Cons know that I was in trouble?"

Breakdown looked at him confusedly, only to immediately avert his glance. "What do you mean?"

"That brutish leader of yours… why did he help me when your Constructicon fellas were shredding me to pieces?"

Breakdown returned his laser pistol to subspace. "What else was he supposed to do? Drag Strip commed Motormaster when you were taken and he ordered us to get back… and the Constructicons are not our fellas!"

"Really? And where were you in the first place? Not at a fraggin' picnic I suppose—"

The door opened, both Air Raid and Breakdown staring immediately at the bulky figure that was standing under the threshold. They both also knew that the time had come, whatever it meant.

Motormaster narrowed his optics at the scene before him, but he disregarded whatever suspicions he could have on the matter. He obviously had his priorities and nothing else mattered.

"Get Dead End and Drag Strip," he ordered Breakdown as he brusquely liberated Air Raid from his restraints, "and meet me at the Axis Sector of the base. There's a big storage room there. You'll see Soundwave's runts guarding it."

Breakdown stepped back. "Uh… sure… but what for? I mean, if I can ask… Commander, Sir?"

Motormaster fixated a very uncomfortable glare at Breakdown's optics, even for Air Raid's standards.

"Isn't it obvious, you idiot? We are going to fix the Gestalt bond, there's your _what for."_

The recently ingested energon froze inside Air Raid's tanks. _Fixing the Gestalt bond… _that didn't sound good, especially to his life expectations.

_To be continued._

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_Reviews are very welcome :o)_


	9. Place small Want out!

**Chapter 9**

**Place small. Want out!**

Megatron frowned at the tiny piece of paper before grasping it with two of his fingers and lifting it towards his face. Despite his indifference, he couldn't help but be slightly confused by the 'Dad of the Year' slogan printed alongside the image of some human creature.

"Is this the moment in which you come up with one of your stupid remarks, Starscream, or do you actually expect me to ask you what the slag this is?" he said with a bored tone of voice.

Starscream smirked and sat comfortably on the chair beside his leader's. "First option, actually. Happy Father's Day, Mighty Megatron!"

Megatron's face didn't reflect anger, not even curiosity. As he did with many of Starscream's antics intended to infuriate him, he chose to ignore this one. It wasn't that he avoided confrontations with his Second in Command, but violence was an action that was for Megatron to start, not for Starscream to provoke.

"You may forgive my impertinence, _leader," _Starscream hissed, his smirk more insolent than ever, "but I thought this ridiculous human tradition would be proper, considering how protective and condescending you are with the Stunticons. Fatherhood makes you so weak…"

Once again, Megatron didn't punch Starscream as a first resort. Pummeling his Second in Command was always very satisfying, but falling for his game would only give the buffoon a reason to continue, and Starscream knew exactly how to savour a victory, no matter how painful.

"Weak?" Megatron said calmly, casting a last glance at the small piece of paper before tossing it aside. "Once again, Starscream, your voice is the one of ignorance. I would have expected that after ridiculing yourself so many times you would have learned something, but it seems that you love to prove me wrong. Your lack of vision can only be compared with your increasing stupidity. There's no doubt that you will never lead the Decepticons."

Same old words, same old success. Starscream frowned and folded his arms across his chest, slumping into his chair. "So you say… but I know some things about leadership, Megatron, things that you seem to forget. Perhaps age is messing with your logic circuits, how else can you explain your benevolent behavior with your glitched creations? Motormaster should have been punished for his negligence! It was enough having those five psychotic experiments of yours destroying the Nemesis with their suicidal races, but now we have lost a Gestalt robot, which seriously compromises the position of our forces on Earth. And what is your reaction, _wise _leader? You let the incompetent brute walk away, free to do whatever he wants with a problem that is obviously too big for him to handle!"

"We have lost nothing. The Stunticon Gestalt bond is complete and Menasor is ready to merge at my command."

Starscream snarled. "Yes, with a very interesting left leg… If you choose to ignore the obvious complexities something like this will cause within the Stunticon Gestalt bond and the Decepticons' hierarchy itself, you should at least turn your attention to the moral consequences. Have you even considered how ridiculous this whole situation is? There is an Autobot inside this base right now as we speak, and not as a prisoner but as a member of our army!"

Megatron laughed, more amused by his Second in Command's discomfort than by the matter he was addressing. "Ah, Starscream… you defend your prejudices with so much passion that sometimes I can't help but wonder if you chose the right side… Perhaps you would be better with the Autobots, taking such empty ideas to the extreme with such ease."

"What do you mean?" Starscream said, standing up and clenching his fists.

"Isn't it obvious, you idiot? It seems that your pathetic and limited scenario forgot to include some important considerations, such as the effect this same situation is having in the Ark."

"The Ark?" Starscream hesitated. "Of course I considered—"

"Knowing Prime as I do, I can assure that the loss of one of his loathsome Autobots is devastating him more than whatever consequences a failure in the Aerialbot Gestalt can bring to his army. Prime's weakness, added to his ignorance about a technology developed by Decepticon science, will be his doom. Whilst he mourns, I seek and find advantages to exploit. We Decepticons are an army, not a bunch of idealists playing war. One or one hundred soldiers is something I'm very willing to sacrifice if victory is the prize."

"Mmmh… if you are so decided on sending Wildrider to the Pit, why are you allowing Motormaster to try and restore his team to its original status? Sometimes I really don't understand you."

Megatron smirked. "Respect, Starscream, one of the words that is beyond your limited understanding."

"Oh, please!" Starscream spat. "There it is again, your disturbing paternal side. You should really keep that human card, Megatron!"

And there it was as well, Starscream's jealousy… as sweet as the finest high grade energon. "It must be destroying you, mustn't it buffoon?" Megatron said calmly as he stood up. "That Motormaster has earned in so little time the one thing that you haven't in fifty thousand vorns of scheming behind my back and kissing my tail pipe at the same time."

"Why you…" Starscream almost roared. "How dare you compare me with that sick creation of yours? My achievements far surpass whatever that idiotic ground-pounder could even conceive!"

As calmly as if he were doing something ordinary, Megatron reached out and grasped Starscream by the back of his helm, forcing him to step forward and crashing his face against the big console before them. The high pitched cry of pain that came from Starscream's vocalizer was the only thing that Megatron would have called music. "Achievements that don't include my respect," Megatron hissed into Starscream's audio sensors, amused and satisfied by the hurt expression on the Seeker's face, not precisely caused by physical pain.

"I respect Motormaster enough to grant him the opportunity of trying a desperate measure in order to return the Stunticon Gestalt to its original status. Soundwave tells me that all odds are against him, but I'm still allowing this to continue. Motormaster will fail, but he will also learn. I have no doubt that he will overcome frustration and move on. Unlike you, he is very capable of standing up with dignity after a fatal blow to the thing he values the most. Dignity… another term you ignore, Starscream, just like loyalty, both qualities that Motormaster, _my creation, _possesses abundantly."

"Ugh… y-yeah…" Starscream groaned, his face brutally pressed against the console, "don't forget to mention sadism… There's no doubt that brutish moron is your creation indeed…"

Megatron released his prey, not after giving him one last strong shove against the console as if to emphasize a point, or embed Starscream to the metal beneath, whichever happened first.

"Now that we have reached an understanding, I expect you to stay away from all this. Radical purists like you are obstacles to be removed in times of change, and make no mistake that I will not hesitate in removing you if you cross the line. Be warned."

Starscream fell to his knees and rubbed his sore face. "A… as you wish…"

Megatron nodded curtly and 'helped' Starscream to reach the door via a powerful kick to the Seeker's afterburners. "Good. Now get the slag out of here. Unlike you, I have important matters to think about."

Once Megatron was left alone, he sat on his chair again. Despite all his venom, Starscream had a point; the slagging fool _always _had a point. Of course having an Autobot as part of a Decepticon Combiner team was a situation that could be easily considered disturbing and humiliating to say the least. Although not being as radical as Starscream was concerning the Decepticon cause, Megatron loathed the Autobots and everything they stood for, but he was visionary enough to not allow prejudices cloud his mind. Finding advantages even in the most adverse situations was his specialty; he wouldn't have turned a bunch of social pariahs into a powerful and organized army otherwise.

An army he knew as well as the core of his spark. He was very aware that every Decepticon on the Nemesis would be looking forward to tearing the Autobot intruder to pieces, but he was also aware that the situation involving the presence of the Aerialbot filth didn't endanger the morale of his troops. Megatron had always fomented individualism and raw competence among his soldiers in order to avoid feelings such as comradeship to hinder their judgment. The Autobots, on the other hand, would prioritize the safety of one of their own instead of focusing on the changes a situation as drastic as a malfunction in one of their Gestalt teams could cause.

That, itself, was a victory. The rest was up to Megatron; to turn the Autobots' sentimentalism into their own gallows. Only this time he wouldn't have to move a finger; Motormaster would take care of it, unconsciously perhaps, but he would pull the strings exactly in the direction Megatron wanted to.

Megatron smirked evilly, his countenance of triumph only disturbed by a single thought. He had to, of course, consider Wildrider. Normally, Megatron wouldn't have had any problem sacrificing one – or, as he had said, a hundred – of his soldiers for a major goal, but Wildrider was his creation.

Megatron's stare fell on the small paper card at his feet. He would have never gone as far as to consider himself some sort of paternal figure regarding the Stunticons, but he had a bond with them; he had built them and every single one of them was linked to him as long as they existed. The Stunticons _belonged _to him.

It wasn't with sentimentality that Megatron addressed the situation, but with practical reasoning. Wildrider could be retrieved, he had no doubt about it, whether his link with the Stunticons could be restored or not. But chances were that the last possibility would become a reality. If that was the case, Megatron wasn't sure if Wildrider would be able to function as an individual Decepticon. His loyalties were nothing but a given habit, and even though he would certainly have no problem fighting for the same cause he had fought for since his creation, his tacit bond with the Aerialbot Gestalt would be a major problem. Megatron was no scientist, but he was very aware of the indivisible strength of a bond of that kind. If Wildrider remained linked to the Aerialbots, there would be only one thing to do, one that Megatron wouldn't hesitate to execute.

* * *

"Ugh, this itches!" Wildrider complained as he squirmed and rubbed his helm against the wall, scratching the small device attached to the back of his neck.

"It's either that or power-dampeners; your choice. Although if you ask me, I'd just weld you to the underside of the base and throw away the key," Skydive grumbled. "And stop moving around! You'll break it."

Wildrider stopped for a moment and addressed his new teammate with his most angelical smirk. "That's my intention. Where would you throw that key, by the way? I didn't even know that undersides had keys."

Skydive showed Wildrider a fist. "I thought you and Silverbolt had made a deal. You agreed to use this electromagnetic nullifier in exchange for not being chained up. Am I right?"

"You are more like red, but go ahead."

Skydive clenched his fists until metal creaked, doing his best to repress the urge of using them against his very uncomfortable new teammate. "So… you keep the slaggin' nullifier on, and end of the story!"

"But it's really annoying! I can't transform, I can't shoot, I can't use my radio, and you're not gonna believe what it does to my forcefield—"

Skydive poked Wildrider's chest with a finger. "Look psycho, one thing you have to understand is that you are the lowest link in the chain here. You're not a guest, but a prisoner, got it?"

Wildrider giggled. "Heh, that's not what your boss said."

Skydive rolled his optics "Alright, what about this? You're a nuisance! And not only that, you're like the worst nuisance ever."

"I've heard that one before, gimme something new. It gets pretty boring here."

"Do you think I'm here to entertain you?"

"Got some music? How about some energon? Where do you flyboys have the TV around here?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?"

The door opened and a very serious Fireflight walked in.

"Perfect timing, 'Flight," Skydive said, feeling genuinely relieved. "You take care of the fragger now. I'm done standing him, I mean it! What did I do to deserve being his slaggin' nanny?"

Fireflight shrugged his shoulders. "Silverbolt thought you were less likely to tear him apart than Slingshot."

"Yeah? Don't be so sure about that. Anyway, it's your turn to babysit the Stunticon."

Fireflight stood in front of his teammate and prevented him from reaching the precious door. "Not a chance. We need to take him to the Repair Bay for a revision."

Wildrider averted his attention from a funny shadow on the ceiling when he heard the infamous two words. "Repair Bay? No way! That Hatchet guy already messed enough with my struts!"

"He repaired you, that's what he did!" Fireflight almost shouted, although he forced himself to calm down. "We are talking about a simple revision. Ratchet needs to check if your systems are adapting properly the repairs he made on you. Some of them were very serious."

"Yeah, like my new shoulder you mean?" Wildrider said, looking at his right shoulder. "It kinda itches now that you mention it… but not as much as this nullifier thingo!"

"I told you to stop doing that!" Skydive said when he saw Wildrider scratching his helm against the wall again. Then he turned to face his winged teammate. "Can't you just comm Ratchet and ask him to come here?"

Fireflight shook his head slightly. "Nope, it would be too much. Ratchet is very edgy with us after Wildrider put Bumblebee in stasis lock… Besides, it will be good for Wildrider to get out of this room for a bit."

"Oh, do you know what would be even better? For him to stay offline until Silverbolt figures out a way to get us all out of this mess. What do you care about this Decepticon piece of slag, anyway?"

Fireflight grabbed his teammate's arm and softly dragged him toward one corner, whilst Wildrider once again seemed to find the shadow on the ceiling more interesting than the Aerialbots before him.

"Silverbolt said that Wildrider has a very serious problem with paying attention, not to mention hyperactivity… a piece of information we already know, right? The thing is that we have to keep him busy somehow, or he will start causing trouble."

"More than he's already caused?"

"Yeah, I mean _big _trouble."

"I insist it would be easier to knock him offline, or at least keep him chained like for the remainder of his life."

"That's not how Silverbolt wants to handle this, you know that…"

Skydive rolled his optics, noisily. "Okay, okay… I'll help you to take the Stunticon scum to his medical appointment, but after that he's your problem. I've already missed two flying practices thanks to him!"

Fireflight smiled and both Aerialbots headed towards Wildrider, who seemed to find amusing the fact that his left shoulder was shiner than the right one.

* * *

"Hey, Ravage! Fetch!" Drag Strip shouted as he pushed Air Raid forward, making him fall on his knees.

Air Raid ignored the growl and the pair of very sharp fangs that welcomed him just some mechano inches away from his face. He turned around, eager for some very well deserved vengeance, and sent a rabid kick that was easily avoided.

"Ha! You'll have to be faster than that, Arrr Raid," Drag Strip sneered.

That Stunticon was earning his trip to the junk yard very quickly, Air Raid decided as he received the unexpected help of Breakdown to get on his feet again.

"Why do you keep calling him that?" the paranoid Stunticon asked.

Drag Strip pointed to the small metal patch that covered the Aerialbot's destroyed optic. "Just put a parrot on his shoulder and there you have, the first Autobot pirate loser ever. Where's Laserbeak, by the way? He could work… Oh, and we should consider replacing one of his legs with a wooden one."

"Which leg? The_ left _one?" Dead End said, grabbing his new teammate's shoulder and forcing him to keep walking. "I find your remark very inappropriate, Drag Strip."

"Hands off, Decepticon scum!" Air Raid said, shaking violently. Despite the fact that the Stunticons' physical contact wasn't as disturbing as it should have been, the uncertainty about his near future had him in a very bad mood.

"Your frame is not one I'm looking forward to touching, that I can assure you," Dead End calmly told him.

"Unlike me," Drag Strip said, punching Air Raid on the back of the helm. "I can touch you aaaaall day, Arrr Raid!"

"I bet you could, Drag Queen!"

Breakdown chuckled and received a harsh glare from Drag Strip. Air Raid could detect some sort of tension between the two, not exactly caused by laughing at the wrong teammate's expense.

"Altering denominations to degrading terms, how original," Dead End said with a pretend yawn, disregarding Air Raid's squirming and forcing him to enter the room. Ravage growled again, fixating a pair of murderous optics on Air Raid, but remained in his position. He had obviously his own orders to follow.

The lights in the room were dazzling, at least for a mech who had only one optic. There was also one chair with a thick helmet hanging above it that didn't seem promising at all, unless said promises were associated with excruciating pain.

But it was the sight of Motormaster and Soundwave, standing on either side of the chair, that convinced Air Raid that everything that he had gone through in that damn Decepticon base was nothing compared to what was yet to come. Whatever it was that was about to happen in that room would decide everything; his life, his immediate future, the place where he belonged… For the first time, he consciously realized that Air Raid the Stunticon was about to cross the very thin line he had been standing on since the Primus damned accident, and that once he did, he would stay there for the remainder of his life.

But what was absolutely terrifying was that such choice wouldn't be his to make.

* * *

"Race you to the Repair Bay!" Wildrider said, watching hungrily the wide, orange corridor inviting him to test the traction of his wheels - again. He tried to transform, but a mild electric shock reminded him about the restrictive thing attached to his neck.

And if that wasn't enough, Skydive brusquely grabbed his shoulder and didn't allow him to take one step more. "Race you to nowhere! These halls are no race tracks."

"Yeah, so they say about the ones in the Nemesis, too," Wildrider said, pushing the Aerialbot away from him with an amount of strength that could have been easily considered aggressive.

Skydive pushed him back. It seemed that violence was about to become their only method of communication again when Fireflight intervened and risked his integrity by positioning himself between both his old and new teammates. "Can you two please stop this? We all have our orders. You too, Wildrider! Silverbolt has been more than tolerant with you. The least you could do is show some gratitude with a bit of cooperation."

"Sure, flyboy. How about this for gratitude? Thanks for the chastity belt," Wildrider said, poking the electromagnetic nullifier on his neck. "It does wonders to my mechhood."

Skydive snorted. "Well, what did you expect? Did you want to roam free around the Ark? You're a Stunticon!"

The word sounded so foreign, even to Wildrider. A heavy silence took over as the three Transformers pondered the accuracy of such statement. Unfortunately for all of them, the three reached the same conclusion, one of them more painfully than the others.

Wildrider frowned, seeming genuinely disturbed for the first time since his arrival at the Ark. Fireflight hurried to grab his arm and urged him to keep walking. He had already witnessed how reckless Wildrider was in 'normal' circumstances. He didn't want to know what would happen inside that overheated neural processor if the Decepticon became really upset.

Wildrider didn't resist and allowed the Aerialbots to guide him through the corridors of the Ark. He seemed to have lost interest in his surroundings, even in his desire to race. Undeniable revelations were certainly making their way through his cerebro-shells in a way that he wasn't able to comprehend. Fireflight couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

"Hold it right there! Where are you two taking the prisoner?" a rough voice asked, startling the _three _Aerialbots.

Ironhide was standing at the corner of an adjacent corridor, with the humans Chip Chase and Spike Witwicky beside him. Fireflight noticed how the two humans caught Wildrider's attention immediately.

"Tone down your radio amplifiers," Skydive said with apathy. "We're just taking the Stunticon slagger for a checkup."

Ironhide folded his arms, his optics staring fiercely at Wildrider. "Did Prowl authorize this?"

Fireflight hesitated. "Er, no… we didn't think it was necessary. It's just a regular revision. Ratchet said—"

"It's up to Prowl to authorize this," Ironhide stated, deaf to anything except the not so little inner voice urging him to snatch Wildrider's spark from his chest. "Get him back to wherever you had him hidden or I'll take him to the brig, and not necessarily in one piece."

When Wildrider took a step forward, Fireflight was sure his wayward teammate was about to again manifest his dislike for the brig, if not physically at least verbally. But he was deeply surprised when Wildrider pointed a finger toward Chip Chase and spoke with an accusative tone.

"The fleshie's pretending! He can walk!"

Immediately, Ironhide pinned Wildrider to the wall, his very strong arm crushing the Stunticon's neck and preventing him from moving.

"What did you just say, you crazy punk?"

"The fleshie can walk," Wildrider insisted. "He just pretends he can't so the other fleshie do all his stuff for him."

The facial features of the elder Autobot weapons specialist narrowed in fury. "How dare you, Decepticon scum? I'll shut you down for this!"

Firelight hurried to get to Ironhide's side and grabbed his arm. "Come on, Ironhide! Let him go. He didn't mean it."

"'Course I meant it," Wildrider assured, as if Ironhide wasn't practically strangling him. "He also likes to dress like a Smurf, isn't that right fleshie?"

Ironhide subspaced his Water Gun. "Why you—"

"Wait, Ironhide," Chip said calmly, oblivious to the apparently rude comments directed at his persona. "I think I know what he's talking about."

Chip rolled his wheelchair towards the pinned Stunticon and smiled at him. "Um, Wildrider? I take it you know my name?"

"Yeah, you're Andy, and the other fleshie is Lou," Wildrider replied without a doubt.

Much to the Autobots' surprise, Chip burst into laughter. "It's okay, Ironhide," he said once he could speak again. "Fireflight is right, Wildrider meant no harm. You can release him now."

"I'll be slagged the day a Decepticon means no harm!" Ironhide replied roughly.

Spike approached and positioned himself beside his human friend. "Chip is right. Wildrider is talking about a television show, 'Little Britain'. There is a character there that pretends to be in a wheelchair even though he can walk perfectly."

Chip nodded. "I assume Wildrider has never seen any other human in a wheelchair and it was easy for him to guess that I was Andy."

Ironhide hesitated and loosened his pressure on Wildrider slightly. "So… this is all about some stupid television show?"

Spike nodded. "I'm afraid so."

Skydive reached out and released Wildrider from Ironhide's grip. "Nothing happened here, alright? Now, can we take this slagger to Ratchet and get over with this? I'm about to miss my third flight practice in a row, Primus damn it!"

Wildrider allowed Skydive to shake him like a puppet before smirking widely and pointing toward the nullifier on his neck. "Hey, I never got to tell you what _this _does to my forcefield, remember?"

Skydive frowned. "What the slag are you—?"

A big flash of light, followed by a distorted symphony of circuits overloading were followed by the already familiar laughter of Wildrider. Two seconds after that, the Decepticon was the only Cybertronian standing.

Wildrider got to one knee and looked with sincere remorse at the two fallen Aerialbots. "Sorry about that, flyboys, but you should've listened when I tried to tell you that your chastity belt was glitching with my forcefield…" Then he turned towards the startled humans and seized Chip with one hand, stepping on Ironhide's head in the process. "It's your lucky day, Andy! You just gained the right to become my hostage!"

"Let him go, Deceptiscum!" Spike cried.

Wildrider chuckled. "Sorry Lou, but you stay here," he said, tossing aside Chip's wheelchair. "I'll see to return Andy to you in one piece… maybe!"

And then he transformed, oblivious to Chip's complaints as the human was thrown somewhere around Wildrider's driver seat.

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_Drag Strip calling Air Raid 'Arrr Raid' was taken from a review by QoS and it's used with her permission. Thanks a lot!_

_Those of you who are familiar with 'Little Britain' must have caught the Andy/Lou reference immediately. If you didn't, please do yourself a big favour and watch one of the best comedy TV shows ever. That is a must-have show to keep our inner Wildrider happy and (in)sane._

_Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate and to all of you. Your reviews keep this story flowing :o)_


	10. Meet Superion

_My beta reader iratepirate is overseas, so this chapter is being posted without being revised. I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes you will certainly find. My English has improved a lot since I write fanfiction, but it's still very far away from being perfect. Hopefully, the typos won't be that big…_

_Anyway, the ride you are about to take will be intense. Hopefully that will make you guys forget the mistakes you may find. Anyway, if you find something really ugly, please let me know and I'll change it. Thanks in advance!_

_Safety belts on? Okay, let's start!_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 10**

**Meet Superion**

Chip Chase made some very important decisions as soon as he more or less stabilized himself on Wildrider's driver seat: he would not scream, or beg for mercy, or call the Decepticon offensive names. Those would be natural and stereotyped responses to his predicament, not to mention that they were also the kind of reactions his captor would be expecting. Wildrider was unstable and seemed to act following sudden, improvised impulses; resourcing to old clichés between Decepticons and their human captives would only stimulate his reckless behavior, which would considerably endanger Chip's life.

So the analytical twenty one year old scientist wrapped the safety belt around him with firm, yet not hurried, movements, wondering why in the world Wildrider had safety belts in the first place. It was probably a leftover of the days in which he was nothing but the fancy Ferrari of some very wealthy speed lover. Chip had always wondered if the Stunticons had some sort of complex because of their terrestrial origins. He knew that the Decepticons and some Autobots despised them for that same reason.

That train of thought was brutally interrupted when Wildrider's speakers came to life and the extremely loud Rammstein's song almost deafened the human element in that peculiar hostage situation.

"Gggg… Where do you think you're going?" Chip asked, putting his hands on his ears in an attempt to protect them from permanent damage.

Wildrider didn't reply. He seemed very busy murmuring to himself, perhaps looking for the exit of the Ark. Although soon, despite of the murderous decibels drilling his timpani, Chip realized that Wildrider was singing, apparently not caring for the direction he was heading as long as he kept riding.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Chip repeated, hating to resource to the very rude habit of shouting.

This time Wildrider heard him, because the volume of the music went down, much to Chip's relief.

"Uh… you were here, Andy?" the Stunticon said, apparently confused with Chip's presence. Could it be that Wildrider had already forgotten that he had just acquired a human hostage? It seemed that what the Autobots said about that Decepticon's lunacy was true.

"You're heading in the opposite way to the exit," Chip said as calmly as he could. "Although I wouldn't go there if I were you. The entire Ark's crew must be waiting for you."

Wildrider seemed to shrug, even though being in vehicle mode. "No problemo. I'll bust them all up."

Chip did his best to not lose his glasses when Wildrider made a drastic turn at supersonic speed. His efforts to keep his voice serene were even higher. "There is a secret exit at the bottom of the base. Nobody ever uses it, so most likely it will be unguarded. I can guide you there if you want."

A snort-like sound came from Wildrider's console. "Yeah? And why would you do that for me, Andy?"

The _my name is not Andy _died at the tip of Chip's tongue. He didn't have time for trivialities, after all. "I have two very good reasons. I'll tell you one now, but you will only hear the second if you follow my advice. And trust me, it's worth it."

Wildrider remained silent for a moment, as silent as he could be with 'Du hast mich' playing at a volume that was definitely too much on the unbearable side for Chip's taste.

"We've got a deal, Andy. Shoot your first reason or I'll shoot you through the window," Wildrider said laughing, but somehow Chip knew he had meant every word.

"If your destination is the Ark's entrance, the Autobots will attack you at sight, which will put me into a very hazardous position."

"Doubt so. I have a forcefield, see?"

"Mm… can your forcefield hold against Optimus Prime's laser rifle?"

"Maybe. I have never tried, really… but hey, I got in this fray with the Triplechangers once and Blitzwing was so pissed that he shot me in tank mode. Point blank, see? Right in the chest."

"And what happened?"

"I'm still riding, aren't I?"

"Still, I don't think you can take an entire battalion of Autobots firing at you, and neither can I."

"You should get yourself a forcefield."

"I…" Chip winced, trying to control his nausea as Wildrider continued defying physics with his frenetic riding. He knew that the Autobots wouldn't attack Wildrider as long as Chip remained as his hostage, but he had a personal interest in the recent incident that involved the Aerialbots and the Stunticons, and he was determined to avoid a serious confrontation between the new Aerialbot and his improvised teammates by all means. "Look, let's just say that I happen to be in love with being alive and I think my chances are higher if we avoid a fight with the Autobots. Now would you mind taking the corridor to your left?"

Wildrider giggled, but followed Chip's directions. "_I happen to be in love with being alive… _I have to tell that one to Dead End sometime. Thanks for the tip, Andy."

Chip closed his eyes as his stomach hit his throat and went down again. Wildrider was definitely insane, but he was not being aggressive, not even sarcastic. Perhaps there was a way to get to him.

Fervent lover of the Gestalt technology as he was, Chip had took a hard hit when he had failed in averting the Constructicons from their evil ways. It had taken him a while to understand that the Decepticon engineers had made their choice and that no device could overrun one sentient being's beliefs, especially if they belonged to a gestalt group which bond humans couldn't fully comprehend.

But Wildrider was an entirely different case. As the rest of the Stunticons and the Aerialbots themselves, he had been forced into a war that wasn't his own and programmed to take for granted beliefs he didn't even understand. And now the table had taken another drastic turn with his sudden intrusion to the Aerialbot Gestalt. That was a major problem for all the Autobots, and certainly for the Decepticons as well, but Chip had very different thoughts about that matter. Where others saw disgrace, he saw hope.

"Now take your right on the next corridor... Alright, you'll see a door at the middle. The opening code is 04-745—" Chip yelped when Wildrider typed his own code by crashing against the door and taking it down. That forcefield of his was a really amazing thing, even more than Trailbreaker's.

"Nice place for a race," Wildrider said, hitting on purpose some of the irregular rock formations scattered through the entire subterraneous passage.

Chip gasped and closed his eyes to the rain of debris that hit Wildrider's windshield without even scratching it. "I'm glad… you like it. See that wall rock at the bottom? The exit is right there."

Wildrider pierced it faster than a heart beat, this time without any additional destruction. "Uh… what just happened?" he asked, confused, as the sun light suddenly bathed his chassis.

"The door was a hologram," Chip explained, welcoming the relative peace by resting his head against Wildrider's seat.

"Bummer…" The volume of the speakers increased again.

"Wait, wait! What are you planning to do with me? You escaped the Ark already!"

When Wildrider didn't reply, Chip started to pound the steering wheel with his fists. "I asked you a question, Wildrider! Would you mind answering?"

"Ya said something, Andy?"

Chip reached Wildrider's console and turned the stereo off. He was surprised he hadn't thought about that before. Extreme fear could really do things to a mind that had scored almost 200 points in its last IQ test.

"Hey, why did you do that?" Wildrider immediately complained. "That was the best part!"

Chip hurried to reply before Wildrider activated his infamous stereo again. "I would like to have a word with you, if that's okay."

"About what?"

"I take it your destination is the Nemesis base."

"I was actually thinking about going to Disneyland, but yep, the Nemesis would be better."

Chip took a deep breath, as deep as he could take it at two hundred miles per hour. He was about to get into a conversation that could get him killed, but his fascination with the Gestalt technology wouldn't allow him to take an alternative route.

"I don't think you want to go back to the Nemesis."

As expected, Wildrider chuckled. "And why wouldn't I? You're much funnier in TV, Andy!"

Chip was about to state the obvious but a green light on Wildrider's console did it much better.

"_Wildrider," _Silverbolt's voice could be heard. _"Return to the Ark immediately."_

Wildrider seemed to hesitate, or at least that's how Chip interpreted the noticeable decrease on the Ferrari's speed and the short but very tense seconds he took to reply.

"Are the other flyboys okay?" Wildrider asked with a voice that Chip could have sworn it was an apology. "I didn't mean to knock them out, you know? It was that chastity belt—"

"_They are fine," _Silverbolt interrupted him. _"But you have to return immediately. I hope you'll agree with me that there's no need to have an entire squad of Autobots on your tail."_

"Why not? I kind of enjoy the attention."

Another voice cracked to life on Wildrider's comm link. _"This is no joke, frag face!" _Chip immediately recognized Slingshot. _"We're catching up with you and will take you down unless you fraggin' come back! Last warning, Decepticon! Dead or alive, you're coming with us!"_

Wildrider burst in laughter. "Sure thing, Robocop," he said and turned his comm link off.

"That's useless and you know it," Chip cautiously said, suspecting that Wildrider's amusement on the entire situation was a pose. The sudden decrease of the Ferrari's speed was also a clear signal of his disturbance.

Chip got the confirmation he was looking for – and dreading – when Wildrider's voice sounded more serious than expected. "What do you mean?"

"Switching off your communicator… As far as I know, there's no way a Combiner robot can be isolated from his Gestalt bond… The Aerialbots can always reach you there."

Wildrider didn't reply, confirming that he was definitely not amused anymore, as he certainly hadn't been since the beginning. His stereo also remained uncomfortably silent.

After a couple of minutes, Chip dared to speak again. "Why are you taking this highway? Last time I checked, the Nemesis wasn't in the way to Portland."

"You ask too much questions, Andy," Wildrider grumbled, entering a warehouse at the beginning of an industrial zone. When he finally hit the brakes and parked beside some cargo machines, his speedometer was barely above twenty miles an hour.

Wildrider's door opened.

"Out."

Chip stared at freedom the same way he would have stared at an abysm.

"Out," Wildrider repeated, his voice dangerously cold. "I know you can walk, so get the frag out. One and only chance, Andy!"

His legs miraculously getting into motion was a dream that Chip had stopped having years ago. He could have dragged himself out, of course, but he hadn't gone that far for nothing. He could see now that Wildrider was seriously disturbed.

"What about you? What are you planning to do?"

Wildrider didn't reply. Shit, the situation was getting worse…

"Wildrider—"

The world jolted again when Wildrider transformed and suddenly Chip found himself pending by his jacket from the Stunticon's fingers.

"End of the road, Andy."

In other words, death sentence for sure. Once again, the possibility of pleading for his life didn't cross Chip's mind. If Wildrider had already taken the decision of killing him, begging would serve for nothing.

But what happened was quite a surprise, as every action in Wildrider's existence had to be. After scanning the warehouse in search for some place to hang his human charge, Wildrider ended placing Chip on a pile of big rubber wheels and headed toward the exit.

Surprises were in order, as the Decepticon continued proving when he didn't leave, but sat on a big metallic container instead and rested his elbows on his knees, hiding his face between his hands in an attitude that reflected absolute defeat. Chip had seen a lot during his involvement in the Cybertronian war, but that image was devastating.

"You can't do it… As much as you want to, you can't leave your teammates behind," Chip said, more to himself than to Wildrider, but his statement was heard.

The container creaked when Wildrider stood up, his face deformed by anguish. "I've got a question for you, Andy! What would shut you up faster? Shooting my own audio receptors, or ripping your vocalizer off?"

A wave of panic spread through Chip's body. There was a limit to his bravery and there was a limit to Wildrider's patience. He had reached them both.

But Wildrider stopped after a couple of steps, his motionless status obeying another revelation that just had hit him hard.

He wasn't alone anymore.

At the bottom of the warehouse, Slingshot was standing, both hands at the frame of the big exit. The main entrance was covered by Skydive and Fireflight, who stepped away to allow their leader to get in first.

With an enemy within perhaps, but the Aerialbots were complete again.

* * *

"Stay away from Chip," Silverbolt said firmly, "and step back, Wildrider."

The proximity of his unwanted teammates seemed to shatter Wildrider's depression and returned him to his usual mood.

"Mmh, where's the fun in that?" he said, subspacing his scattershot gun and pointing it toward Chip. "I have a better idea. Why don't I blow Andy here to pieces and you see if you can patch him up?"

"Put your gun down or I'll fraggin'—" Slingshot started to say as he took a step forward, but Silverbolt stopped him with a firm movement of his arm.

"You won't do such thing," the Aerialbot leader said, addressing Wildrider.

Wildrider snorted. "And why not?"

Silverbolt remained calm as he continued talking. "First, because ever since your days as a Stunticon you were never notable for murdering humans, and most importantly, because I, _your leader, _am telling you to back off."

Wildrider's fingers trembled around the trigger of his gun.

"You ain't my leader. Motormaster is."

Silverbolt's expression didn't change. "Motormaster has nothing to do with you, not anymore, neither any of your former teammates. The Stunticon Gestalt is as foreign to you as it is to me. It's time for you to understand that."

Wildrider looked from Aerialbot to Aerialbot, his expression totally lost. "I'm a Stunticon!" he said, desperation making him raise his voice. "See the wheels? The insignia? What? Did you think that just because some stupid glitch happened I was an Aerialbot now?"

"Yes, Wildrider. That's exactly what I think, because that's exactly what happened."

It seemed that a bomb had just hit Wildrider and he didn't know where to start to pick up his pieces. He stepped back, tripping with a crate and falling on his aft. He immediately raised his gun again and aimed it to Slingshot, who had taken a step toward him.

"You stay away! All of you!" he cried, turning to face Silverbolt. "You lied, fat lips! You said you were gonna fix this mess!"

"I said I would do everything in my hands to reverse this situation," Silverbolt severely explained, "which is precisely what I'm doing. In return, the only thing I asked for you was your cooperation, a simple commit you were unable to honour. I don't know how temporal or permanent this failure in our respective Gestalts is, but whether you like it or not, whether _we _like it or not, you are an Aerialbot now and there's nothing you or anybody else can do to change it. I tried to reason with you, I tried to protect you, I tried to be kind with you and I tried to listen to you… but time has come to discipline you. I'm very sorry, Wildrider, but you leave me no choice."

Wildrider smirked. "So now I become you flyboys punching bag, huh? No problem with me, do your worst."

Silverbolt slowly shook his head. "No, Wildrider. The only Aerialbot that you will face today will be me, Silverbolt, _your team leader. _It's time for you to learn that you are part of this Gestalt and that you, as everybody else, must respect hierarchies."

Wildrider seemed taken aback, but he immediately recovered himself from his shock, used to abrupt turns as he was. "It took Motormaster twenty seven beatings – twelve of them that almost put me in the junkyard – to… what did you say? Oh yeah, _discipline _me…" He returned his gun to subspace. "You are no bigger than the boss, definitely not stronger... How many times do you think you'll have to beat me up, fat lips, for me to actually consider you my leader? Oh, and let's not forget the important part here. This time I'm fighting back!"

That's all Wildrider said before pouncing at Silverbolt with all his strength.

Both combatants fell outside the warehouse, breaking the concrete of the ground and starting a battle that was meant to happen one time, and one time only.

* * *

In response to his own question, Wildrider realized that he didn't know how many times he had been tempted to punch Motormaster back, especially during all those times in which he had been punished for no further reason than being himself. Five years of life, hundreds of beatings. Wildrider admitted that he had messed up some missions because of his inability to focus, but there were also times in which he had actually saved the day. The result of his mistakes? Pain, humiliation, eventual mutilation, the hatred ceiling of the Nemesis' Repair Bay after being brought back online by the Constructicons… And what about his achievements? Nothing, not a word congratulating him, not a palm on his shoulder, not a friendly stare… Nothing.

That was Motormaster's style, it would always be. Attacking the boss was simply impossible, the kind of thing that just couldn't exist in this or whatever Universe Dead End assured was meant to be doomed.

But now Wildrider had the opportunity to fight back, to unleash a little bit of his frustration on that blurry figure of authority that his spark was forcing him to recognize as his leader.

So he threw the first punch once he and Silverbolt landed outside the warehouse. He could feel the face plates of the Aerialbot denting beneath his fist, and he hated himself for not enjoying the moment as he should have. It felt good to punch something, but at the same time it felt so wrong because he was beating the one bot he wasn't supposed to beat…

_He's not Motormaster, he's not Motormaster— _Wildrider found his mantra very quickly, but it wasn't enough. His fist hurt, acidly when he punched Silverbolt a second time. It was like punching himself and everything he was.

And then, Silverbolt fought back.

It was true that the Aerialbot leader wasn't as strong as Motormaster, and definitely not as brutal, but he had no problems to kick Wildrider in the midsection and sending him backwards to crash against a formation of metal cylinders, which collapsed over the Decepticon.

Wildrider ended on his fours and rubbing his helm. "Ouch… nice move, fat lips," he said, standing up and picking one of the tubes. "My turn to the bat now!"

Wildrider swung the tube and hit his rival as hard as he could. Silverbolt received the attack with his two hands, groaning in pain with the impact but managing to grab the improvised weapon.

"My name is Silverbolt," he said, struggling with Wildrider. "From now on, you will refer to me as such or as Commander. Disrespect will no further be tolerated."

The three remaining Aerialbots, Fireflight with Chip Chase on his hands, stared agape at the scene before them. They all seemed to understand the meaningful moment that was happening in the very core of the Aerialbot Gestalt team.

Wildrider roared and suddenly lost his grip on the weapon in dispute. Silverbolt fell toward him and was received by a blow with the head that impacted him right on his chin.

"I've been told I have a hard head!" Wildrider said, laughing. "What do you think, fat li— aaarrgh!"

Silverbolt didn't allow him to finish. Recovering immediately, the Aerialbot punched Wildrider on the face and sent him flying toward a formation of crates. Wildrider crashed against it and brought it down. This time it took him longer to get on his knees.

"That… actually hurt," he mumbled.

Silverbolt approached and stood a few meters before him. "Did you have enough, Wildrider?"

The Stunticon grinned. "No… not really."

"GUN!" Skydive cried when he saw Wildrider subspacing his scattershot gun again and pointing it toward Silverbolt.

"Stay where you are, all of you!" Silverbolt said, not impressed by the gun aiming at his head. "So, a gun? Is that how you're going to end this, Wildrider? By shooting me?"

Wildrider raised his free hand and wiped a thin stream of energon coming out of his mouth. "If I said no, would you believe me?"

"Yes, I would believe you."

Wildrider's optics narrowed and the hand holding the gun trembled.

"I would believe you because I know you won't shoot me," Silverbolt continued. "You don't _want _to shoot me. Gestalt teammates don't shoot each other, not like this. You may be different from us, but you are part of us, as we are part of you. You wouldn't dare to shoot me because everything you are forbids you to do it."

Wildrider lowered his head, but kept the aim of his gun fixed on Silverbolt. "Maybe I won't shoot you… but I'm not like you, I'll never be like you. Wanna know why?"

Wildrider answered his own question by averting his arm slightly to the right. "'Cause I can do _this!" _And he shot, impacting a big building behind Silverbolt, which immediately started to collapse.

"Silverbolt, there are humans in there!" Fireflight cried.

Slingshot pounced toward Wildrider. "You fraggin' lunatic, I'll slag you for this!"

Silverbolt firmly shook his head. "There's no time for stupid fights! The humans are in danger and we need to act now! AERIALBOTS, UNITE AND TRANSFORM INTO SUPERION!"

Time seemed to stop. Inside that place without boundaries, without disruptions and without limitations, Wildrider knew what he had to do. His will didn't matter anymore, neither his lunacy. He had to reach the perfect communion with the rest of his team, it was as simple as that.

He had to become the left leg.

He hesitated, his scattershot gun falling to the ground and his arms twisting in a last attempt of resistance. But it was futile; a storm of inexistent winds dragged him, not with violence but with the undeniable strength of the embrace of brotherhood.

After that, his only priority was to avoid the falling façade of the building from crushing the humans beneath.

* * *

Wildrider didn't care about the dozens of fleshies cheering, waving their hands in stop motion to their saviours.

It was a dream, one of those very bad dreams in which he was alone.

He didn't care when Fireflight grabbed his arm and said something to him, his voice so kind. The dream continued stretching with all those bad jokes, all those inner voices reminding him that he had no clue of how insane he really was.

He didn't understand words; they were there, but they were meaningless. His physical self had separated from Superion, but his mind remained there, holding hands with that dormant being that claimed him as part of his giant, engulfing being.

He turned around slowly, always slowly, to the figure he knew was his leader. Once again, his will didn't matter. There were strings pulling him, forces he couldn't describe, even less control. But they were there, guiding him toward places he was not strong enough to reject.

"_I won't call you Commander... Boss is my final offer."_

Had he actually said that, or had he just thought he did? It didn't matter, because Silverbolt nodded. Or perhaps he didn't. Wildrider didn't care.

His legs were heavier than ever when he launched himself forward and transformed. He heard something distant, very distant, howling like a wounded animal. It took him some seconds to recognize the sound of his engine on that lament.

He didn't care.

He also didn't care when his wheels started to devour the miles. The road ahead of him was endless, amazingly clear but not less painful because of that.

At some point of the nightmare, he could feel the four familiar presences flying above him.

He didn't care.

Because it didn't matter that the Aerialbots weren't pushing him to go back to them anymore. They wouldn't do that again, and he perfectly knew why.

Slag them all, he didn't care.

Orange walls seemed colorless when he returned to the place that didn't look like home, that wasn't home, but yet it felt like home. An ugly, asphyxiating home, but home nevertheless.

_Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster._

_Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster._

_Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster._

_Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster._

_Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster._

The names he had known since the very beginning of his life, the only faces that had ever meant anything to him, felt so empty now. He knew them, he recognized them, but they were now so distant, so foreigner.

He didn't belong to them anymore.

Perhaps, if he would have cared, he would have laughed of himself at the ultimate display of self-pity.

There were, of course, the other names, the other faces…

Those he recognized, but he denied acknowledge them, not in high voice, not to himself, not through whatever means he was able to communicate. He was sure he was one of those zombies that movies were made of, those undead…

_See, Deadster? I told you zombies were real, didn't I tell you?_

But Dead End didn't reply. None of his former teammates would.

Back to the nightmare, he didn't care about hands pushing him, and he certainly didn't care about raising fists and guns threatening him.

"_Leave him alone!"_

"_I'm done with this psycho punk, Slingshot, I mean it!"_

"_You touch him and I touch you. How about that, Ironhide? Go on! Make my day!"_

The voices become every moment more distant, losing themselves in a cacophony of nonsense that Wildrider didn't care either. His faltering arm found the switch he was looking for and the door opened, welcoming him into darkness.

He collapsed on the berth, _his _berth, on _his _room… Then he started to shut all his systems down, his lunacy mocking him because this time he wouldn't awake to realize that it had only been a bad dream. This time everything would go on, names mixed and faces discarded, and he trapped in the middle of the monster he knew it was his family.

The last thought he had before losing himself into oblivion was more painful than any beating, than any defeat, than any flirt with termination he had had before.

He wasn't a Stunticon anymore.

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_This chapter turned out to be longer than I expected, so I had to leave Air Raid's side of the coin for next time. _

_Hope you liked! Thanks a lot for your reviews. I love to receive your opinions :o)_


	11. This will shake you off

_Meanwhile, at the Nemesis…_

_As promised, here's the other leg's experience._

_Thank you very much for your reviews! They are always a joy and an inspiration._

_Once again, I'm posting this chapter without being revised. My beta reader is partying overseas while I suffer with English grammar… Anyway, I hope my mistakes won't be that bad._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 11**

**This will shake you off**

"_Slingshot!"_

Once again, there was no answer. Air Raid wondered if he was calling his brother loud enough. It was curious; he didn't remember having shouting so high never in his life, and yet Slingshot kept ignoring him.

Curiosity turned into desperation when he noticed that no sound came from his vocalizer. He was using it, vociferating actually, but there was no use.

"_Hey Skydive, I'm here!"_

The answer was just the same as Slingshot's: a back turned against him, two sharp wings protruding in complete oblivion.

"_Slag you both! Fireflight, what's going on? Can't you slaggin' hear me?"_

Humiliation started to bite him the moment he realized that he had to lower himself to the thing he hated the most.

"_Alright, tin heads, you won… I'm stuck here… a little help, please? And, Silverbolt, spare me the 'I told you so' for later!"_

Now that was weird. Silverbolt would never ignore him, would never deny him a helping hand. Just what the slag was happening?

"_Silverbolt?"_

What the frag was going on? Had he become invisible or what?

"_Silverbolt! Please help me! I won't be able to get out of here on my own. Come on, 'Bolt!"_

When he couldn't feel his own, inexistent voice anymore, panic started to spread. Darkness and silence became one, the same heavy mantle engulfing him. How the slag he could actually _touch _nothingness would always remain a mystery, but that was exactly what he was doing. It was more than that; it was as if he was one with the damn silence, as if he didn't exist at all.

"_SILVERBOLT!"_

* * *

A hangar.

An empty hangar.

The veil covering his optics left place to a white blur. That was no empty hangar; there were moreabandoned shuttles amongst the wreckage, empty shells as the one he was.

He had other memories before that emptiness. There had been no obstacle narrow enough for him as the speed caressed his wings. He had no thoughts, no free will, no life he could have called sentient, but he could still feel the sky. He may have not been alive, but he existed.

Slag, flying was fun! That was the best thing of being functional.

But the fun lasted less than a nano klik. The wings came with a not so little extra.

_Prime directives:_

_Defeat the Decepticons, Protect the innocent, Follow the Autobot code of honour at all times, Combat the Stunticons—_

The directives kept running through his HUD, but Air Raid paid no further attention to them. Time had stopped, and there was one word pending above the narrow frontier between duty and sanity, one word that seemed so familiar now, so part of himself… Why was he supposed to follow directives he hadn't chosen? Why the slag hadn't anybody ever given him the right to decide what to do with his own slagging life?

"_Air Raid…"_

"_Yeeehaa! See if you can copy cat this maneuver, Skydive!"_

"_Air Raid!"_

"_WHAT? Can't you see I'm busy kicking Skydive's aft, Silverbolt?"_

"_Return to formation at once, we have a situation!"_

"_Yaaawwn… what is it this time? Optimus Prime needs somebody to polish his royal aft again?"_

"_Don't you dare to talk about Optimus Prime with such disrespect!"_

"_Only because the guy named you leader doesn't mean you owe him slag… or that you are actually commander of this team."_

"_Why don't you stop talking nonsense?"_

"_Am I talking to you, 'Flight? Let our _leader _fight his own battles."_

"_I appreciate your help, Fireflight, but Air Raid's right on this one, except for the fact that this is no battle!"_

"_Um… did you say something, Mister Scared of Heights? It's hard to hear you when you're flying so low."_

"_Ha ha ha, you got that right. Get that tail up, Silverbolt!"_

"_Be quiet, Slingshot. This is between Air Raid and me."_

"_Whatever you say, intrepid leader!"_

"_You and I will have a conversation later, Slingshot… Air Raid, regroup right now! The Autobots need our help."_

"_Is that an order? Come on, 'Bolt… what's the urgency, really? 'Ole Ironhide and his aft-kissers can take care of whatever is going on."_

"_There's a hostage situation—"_

"_Humans _again?_ Pfft… Are you telling me we're about to sacrifice our quality flying time to go and help humans _again? _What's wrong this time? A flesh bag needs us to get his cat from the top of a tree _again?"

"_Air Raid, I'm not going to repeat it!"_

"_Eeeeasy, big guy… Why don't you just chill out? Let the Autobots handle their own mess. I mean, take a look around you. We've been online for an entire week already and all we do is taking care of the Autobots' dirty jobs. I say slag them! They don't even have wings, for Primus' sake!"_

"_This is the last time I try to engage in a civilized talk with you, Air Raid. The Autobots need us and we will head to the rendezvous point right now!"_

There was silence after that. In the ethereal place in which he was floating, Air Raid heard himself clearly for the first time during that moment of time he couldn't have defined.

"_See? You're doing it too, Silverbolt… Why do you call them _The Autobots? _Aren't you supposed to be one of them? Aren't we all?"_

* * *

The one thing he could never understand was why they were supposed to fight ground-pounders. They were Aerialbots, creatures of the air. Perhaps they were all experiencing sentient life for the first time, but the sky was something they knew well. It was their element, the one place in which they were free, their reason to be. And yet, it was so conditioned.

Defeat the Decepticons._ Who cares? The guys are fighting so hard for something they believe in, they may be right. Besides, those Seekers are beautiful…_

Protect the innocent._ As in innocent humans? Are you kidding? They are annoying, that's what they are! Their planet, their fight. We don't have anything to do with the little pests._

Follow the Autobot code of honour at all times._ Autobot who? We don't know these guys, and so far they've treated us like junk, like _their _junk. I don't know you guys, but I have nothing to do with these ground-pounders at all!_

Combat the Stunticons…

Air Raid forced himself to wait. There was something else there, something he could relate to. Wings were absent, but amongst the dust he could recognize something.

_Family… _

He shook his head vigorously, or at least he tried to do it. He held to his denial like the one single hand that would ever reach out to help him. But suddenly the hand twisted, forcing him to turn his head and address reality. The directives embedded into his programming sucked, but he was learning to follow them and, most importantly, to understand them.

"_Nonononono, nobody dare to stare at Breakdown, he hates it!"_

A painful stab at his spark reminded him where he was standing. He tried to activate his optics but no image of the outer world welcomed him. However, darkness was not what received him. There was a light there, a light he could see with no optics.

"_I can beat you, Drag Strip! I can beat you whenever! Just name the place!"_

That wasn't right, a small part of him kept saying. But there was the other part, the other that reminded him that no matter how much he hated it, that was the bare truth.

"_That spot is not going to get any shinier no matter how much you wax it… A little too obsessed with your looks for a guy who swears he will offline soon, mm? Really, who was the slagger who actually put the Dead into your name?"_

By then, it was useless to try fighting the overwhelming wave dragging him. When he addressed the fourth presence, he made sure to raise his head as much as he could. It didn't matter if he didn't have a body anymore.

"_I hate you… I hate you as much as I belong to you."_

He finally had a visual of the exit of the tunnel, but he wouldn't get out that easily. A giant was standing on his way, separating darkness from light.

A one-legged giant…

After that, he needed no further guidance.

* * *

"What the slag is wrong with him?"

Breakdown turned to Drag Strip. "He seems to be in some sort of trance."

Drag Strip made sure to acknowledge his teammate with a fleeting, sharp glance. "You don't say…"

Motormaster scowled to his teammates. What else could be expected of them but stupidity?

Dead End, on the other hand, was rather quiet. That was no surprise, Dead End was _always _quiet. Motormaster had seen him with that lax, annoying attitude of his even in combat situations. It hadn't taken long to realize that the only way to motivate his most reserved teammate was through brute force.

But Dead End's quietness had a reason for once. He seemed to be very interested in whatever Soundwave was doing to the Aerialbot. Motormaster was no scientist and he would never be, but he was aware that Soundwave was displaying his unique telepathic abilities on the Autobot slag, practically raping his mind.

That single thought should have given Motormaster pleasure, but it didn't. There was no way to know just how deep Soundwave was digging into Air Raid, and thus, the Stunticon bond. The privacy of his team was something that Motormaster took very seriously, but the urgency of the situation left no place for alternatives.

A little commotion could be heard behind. "Holy frag… did the Aerialfragger just challenge me to a race? He should know I'm unbeatable! Everybody knows!"

"He just acknowledged you through the Gestalt bond, Drag Strip, as he did with the rest of us," Dead End said without staring at his teammate.

Breakdown dared to speak again. "How could he do that? He's like gone… really gone. He looks catalytic to me."

"The word, Breakdown, is catatonic, and as much as his life span will eventually reach its end, the Aerialbot is functional, although reduced to a status that makes stasis-lock seem like beauty sleep."

"Silence."

The monotonic command of Soundwave was immediately obeyed, except for Motormaster, who fidgeted noisily from his place in front of the metal chair in which his new teammate was being literally decoded. Not for the first time during the session he had to control himself to avoid getting the slagging Aerialbot out of that chair.

"So?" he said after another minute of excruciating silence. "Found anything interesting?"

Soundwave didn't reply immediately. He remained with his hands attached to the helm positioned above Air Raid's head. Motormaster could recognize the occasional shine on the Communications Officer's optic visor. The slagger was highly enjoying whatever suffering he was inflicting on Air Raid…

"Possibilities of expelling the subject from the Gestalt bond: three percent."

Motormaster smirked. "We're increasing our chances, then."

Soundwave retired his hands from the offlined Aerialbot. Motormaster could see the tendrils retreating into the telepath's fingers.

"Consider a warning."

Warning… that was a word that Motormaster definitely didn't like, one of the many he associated with cowardice. "What?" he spat.

As coldly as he if he were dealing with some lifeless drone and not with one of Motormaster's teammates, Soundwave removed both the helm off Air Raid's head and his upper cortex plate, exposing the delicate circuitry of his processor. Motormaster could feel his teammates gasping inside the Gestalt bond, even Dead End feeling slightly disturbed.

"The Aerialbot's programming remains unchanged," Soundwave intoned. "So does his reasoning patterns and personality component."

Motormaster nodded. "So the fragger's still an Aerialbot."

"Structurally, yes. However, Stunticon Gestalt bond encrypted into his cerebro-shells without possibility of removal."

"Fine! I already understood that ripping off his brain is not the way, but duplicating the conditions in which the slagging glitch happened still goes, isn't it?"

Once again, Soundwave took his time to reply. "Affirmative."

His patience was done, but Motormaster needed no further reassurance. With the Aerialbot's mind read and whatever amount of odds in his favour, there was only one thing needed to be done.

"Just give me a couple of hours and we'll be ready for you," he said to Soundwave, turning around brusquely and heading toward the exit, but Drag Strip's voice stopped him.

"He never said the warning, though…"

Motormaster's narrowed optics switched from Drag Strip to Soundwave.

"Merging into Menasor: not advised. Exposing the subject to a continuous interaction with Stunticon Gestalt bond will result in irreversible situation."

Motormaster felt something cold running through his systems. Of course he knew it would be a very bad idea to form Menasor again, but keeping him locked meant shutting off the essence of the Stunticon Gestalt team. It was much more than just not merging; it was restraining the bond in order to expel an intruder.

He directed a short nod to Soundwave, in both acceptance and in the closest thing to gratitude he could ever express. After that, he reached out to Breakdown and grabbed his arm.

"Take the Aerialbot to our quarters and watch him," he said before turning to his other teammates. "You two idiots are coming with me."

Dead End stared at him lazily. "What for?"

"What do you think, you imbecile? We're getting Wildrider back."

_To be continued._

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* * *

_

_I hope you enjoyed Air Raid's little trip down Memory Lane. I took some liberties, as to assume that the Aerialbots were lifeless jets before the Autobots found them in the shape of junk and turned them into the first Autobot Gestalt team. Weren't they a bunch of lovely jerks when they started their life spans? ;o)_


	12. Snap to it everybody

_Holidays are over! I have a couple of deadlines on the nearby horizon, but I'll do my best to keep updating frequently this and my other – in pause, but not forgotten – stories._

_Grammar mistakes are over as well. My beta reader iratepirate is back, although gone would be a more proper term. We spent two awesome weeks travelling through Mexico! Hugs to you hun, remember to come back soon and bring me a Taipan snake! And a koala if you can, just make sure to put them in separate cages._

_Okay, now let's continue the adventures of our two favorite left legs. Speaking of which, do anybody remember who the left legs of Devastator and Bruticus are? _

* * *

"_The ethics cause me no guilt."_

_Prowl, 'All Hail Megatron' vol. 15._

**Chapter 12**

**Snap to it everybody and get in the captain's cabin**

_From Prowl's confidential files, entry Z13-657, 2-minus 27, third Axis-rotation._

Silverbolt stands still, his position much closer to the exit than the protocol dictates. His immobility doesn't last long, though; he fidgets, his hands intertwined behind his back, perhaps because their trembling is noticeable.

Prime waits. Despite the urgency of the situation, he doesn't renounce his calm temper, a quality that every good leader must possess.

Silverbolt lifts his head. Correction, he _finally _lifts his head. Speaking of leadership's qualities, the Aerialbot Commander lacks of many.

"Well?" Ironhide pushes. Ironhide is a very valuable warrior, but his presence in this kind of meeting is not only unnecessary, but an obstacle and a distraction. Prime's leadership is not under my scrutiny, but some of his decisions are not logical, such as keeping his old friend and mentor beside him all the time.

"I…" Silverbolt hesitates, his nervousness an obvious consequence of the acceptance of his own mistakes. "At the moment, I thought it was the best course of action."

"Tha best course of action would've been to offline tha slaggin' Deceptiscum! He almost killed a ton of humans an' what's your team's reaction, Silverbolt? Protect the fraggin' nutcase!"

Once again, Ironhide's presence exposes itself as nothing more than an obstruction.

"Calm down, Ironhide," Optimus Prime speaks. "You may continue, Silverbolt."

"No human was harmed during that incident. We formed Superion just in time."

"That doesn't condone tha' Stunticon slag-sucker, now does it? It was him who caused the whole mess!"

Prime lifts his arm, a firm gesture that stops Ironhide's outburst in a klik. "We will get to that later. The matter that concerns us currently is far more important."

Silverbolt expels a gust of air from his intakes, a gesture more and more Autobots are referring to as a sigh. "After the ultimatum you gave me following that incident, Prime, I decided that the best thing I could do was contact the Stunticons."

My intervention is required; important data may get lost if I remain strictly recording the session.

"What motivated you to make such decision?"

Silverbolt stares at me for the first time since we entered the War Room. Like most of the young Autobots, he tends to overlook the second step of the High Command.

"The Stunticons were dealing with the same situation." He seems to hesitate, deciding on whether to address Prime or me. He finally locks optics with Optimus Prime, whose behavior towards the Aerialbot Commander has been excessively tolerant, even considering Silverbolt is still very young and inexperienced. "I realized that there would be no hope for a solution unless we reached an agreement."

Ironhide doesn't stand the silence any longer. "We've learned from experience that dealing with 'Cons is the same as stepping on plasma-density-charges. And you thought you could actually get somewhere with the Stunticons? The _Stunticons_, of all 'Cons? They're the biggest freaks of tha' bunch!"

I continue interrogating Silverbolt, sparing Optimus Prime from having to silence his most trusted lieutenant. "How did you manage to contact the Stunticons?"

This time, Silverbolt addresses me. "I realized that I wasn't going to do it through ordinary ways. Any communication, as codified as it could be, wouldn't reach the Nemesis without Soundwave finding out about it, and thus Megatron, so I asked for Wildrider's help."

Very few things arouse my attention. This does. "Continue."

"I asked Wildrider if there was a way to contact Motormaster out of the Decepticon frequencies. He said no."

It's obvious that even the loyalist Silverbolt intends to keep some information for himself. "Is that all he said?"

Silverbolt looks aside. "No… He said that he could contact any of his former teammates if he still belonged to the Gestalt bond, but since he doesn't…"

Gestalt robots are still a mystery to most of us. It is expected, considering they are Decepticon technology, and the result of countless failed experiments which terminated many Cybertronian lives – most of them Autobots. I choose to disregard the thought. "I understand that Wildrider offered you an alternative."

Silverbolt nods. "Wildrider said that Dead End had this… e-mail…"

Ironhide snorts and folds his arms across his chest, but refrains from remarking on the obvious.

"Specify the electronic mail address." I know it will be useless; the Stunticon must certainly have disabled it by now, but still it is data that needs to be kept.

".com... Dead End uses it for recreational purposes. He belongs to some human reading mail list or at least that's what Wildrider said…"

"So you contacted Dead End through the human internet?" Optimus Prime asks, less interested than me in such kind of information.

"Yes, and I was very surprised to receive a very fast response. He gave me a private frequency through which I could contact Motormaster without unwanted listeners."

I decide to interrupt him. Prime will certainly overlook it, but I can't remain indifferent to the protocol violation. "You accessed a codified Decepticon frequency without the authorization of a superior officer? That's a serious violation of our security code, Silverbolt."

Prime turns to look at me. "I trusted Silverbolt to proceed as he considered proper, Prowl. It was his right to decide the course of action."

Other robots would have grimaced to express their discomfort, but not me. Even Prime underestimates my strict attachment to the Autobot Honour Code. I hope the day will never come in which I'll have to show just how much I'm willing to sacrifice to maintain its purity.

"I… didn't think about that," Silverbolt says to me, his tone one of apology. "After merging into Superion and witnessing from the core of the Gestalt just how complete the bond was with a Stunticon as our teammate, I realized that I couldn't afford to waste more time. It's very hard to explain, but I panicked when I noticed how absent Air Raid was… not only from the bond, but from my thoughts. My teammates were going through the same experience."

If I know my leader, he will not carve deeper into Silverbolt's emotional injuries. As predicted, Optimus Prime doesn't disappoint. "Your report states that your attempt to communicate with Motormaster was successful."

"It was, yes. He was… reluctant to meet with me, but I tried to make him understand how much our teams needed us to cooperate in search for a common goal."

"I'll be slagged the day Motor-mouth understands somethin'," Ironhide scowls.

"Did you inquire about Air Raid's status?" Optimus Prime asks. As always, his soldiers come first. I disagree. Ethical ways are not precisely the most practical.

"Of course I did!" Silverbolt almost shouts, as if being under an accusation. He tones down his vocalizer almost immediately. "It was my priority… Motormaster was very curt, but he assured me that Air Raid was alive. That didn't surprise me. As much as the Stunticons hate him, Air Raid is part of their team… they need him…"

Gestalt dynamics and the feelings involved are certainly not an issue for Ironhide. "You should've realized the dangers of trusting Motormaster, Silverbolt. You Aerialbots should know better than anyone tha kind of slag those Stunticon fraggers are. Aren't they supposed to be your sworn enemies or what?"

For once, I agree with Ironhide. Although the initial function of the Aerialbots was to fight the Decepticon Seekers, they soon developed a rivalry against the Stunticons, perhaps due to their young age and their ignorance about the Cybertronian war.

Silverbolt seems defeated. "I was desperate… and I thought Motormaster would be as well. I was right about that, but I made a big mistake by assuming he would be interested in something more than his own team's benefit."

Ironhide mumbles something about lessons that must be learned, but Optimus Prime, as I do, despise the unnecessary waste of time. "Proceed with your report, Silverbolt."

Silverbolt bows his head, his reluctance to continue speaking part of his Combiner programming. Despite his loyalty to the Autobot cause, the privacy of his Gestalt takes precedence. Perhaps resorting to the most trusted Aerialbot to obtain information was not the right strategy after all.

I decide to finish recording the session. Shame and other personal issues are not among my interests, nor are they among the ones of the Autobot cause. I have it clear that, in order to get the exact information about the already infamous incident with the Stunticons, I'll have to turn my attention to alternative sources; reckless, and precisely for that reason, reliable.

* * *

"_You should talk to him, Skydive." _

"_And why me?"_

"_Why do you think? Because you're the right leg, smart-aft."_

"_Hmmph… So? That doesn't mean I have to get in there and give the Stunticon a hug. There's no such a thing as a secret club for Combiner's legs, you know Slingshot?" Besides, team morale is Silverbolt's work, not mine."_

"_He and Fireflight are very busy kissing Prime's aft. I heard that Ironhide and his 'Deactivate Wildrider' followers made a point with 'ole Optimus."_

"_Well, what did you expect? The crazy fragger blew up a slaggin' building! We were very lucky none of the flesh bags got squeezed in the process."_

"_Still, we should do something. I'm taking that you felt it, when we merged…"_

"_Yes, I did, we all did. So what?"_

"_Slaggit 'Dive! I don't like this any more than you do, but you have to admit it, Superion felt so good… everything within the Gestalt working so perfectly. It was as if nothing had changed. It was as if everything was…"_

"_Better?" _

"_I didn't mean it that way, frag it!"_

Slingshot fidgeted uncomfortably. Watching himself on a screen would have normally been a pleasure, but he didn't enjoy being recorded without his authorization, not to mention his awareness. He had no idea there were cameras hidden inside the Aerialbots quarters. And yeah, Prowl would certainly tell him slag about security purposes, or whatever slag concerning a Decepticon intruder inside the base—

"'_Dive?"_

"_Mm?"_

"_Do you miss Air Raid?"_

Slingshot's hydraulics froze. He knew that line was coming; he had to know, he had said it after all. But that didn't ease the painful feeling that reminded him of the kind of traitor slag he was. He shot a murderous look to Prowl, blaming him for the violation of a very private moment with one of his teammates, but Prowl remained as indifferent as always.

"_What do you mean, Slingshot? Of course I miss him! He's our brother. How the slag can you ask me something like that?"_

"_Okay, okay, let me rephrase. Do you _need_ Air Raid?"_

Slingshot bowed his head, silence overriding his anger.

"_I see… so it's happening to you too," _he heard himself saying weakly from the damned screen.

Prowl decided to end the torture session and pushed one button, ending the video file.

Really, if it weren't for Prowl's rank… Perhaps his closest brother had never been so absent, but Slingshot knew that Air Raid would have agreed in kicking Second in Command aft plates for a breem or two.

"I'm going to skip the disrespectful – not to mention mutinous – tone of your dialogue, Slingshot, in order to proceed to the reason why I summoned you in private. Are you going to deny now that it was you who released the prisoner?"

Slingshot quirked an optic brow, finding too many inconsistencies in that simple question. There was no doubt that Prowl was a stiff, non-Gestalt fragger.

"I never denied it," Slingshot answered finally. "But didn't you interrogate Silverbolt earlier? Didn't you ask him all the good questions?"

Silverbolt, in his infinite aft-kisser attitude, had said more than once that there was a protocol of respect to follow when talking with bots such as Optimus Prime or Prowl, but it was one of the many things that Slingshot had decided to rub against his tail pipe, just as Air Raid had done.

Prowl, however, didn't seem to be affected by Slingshot's lack of manners. Nothing ever seemed to disturb him. "Silverbolt reported to his superior officers as the protocol dictates. He wasn't under interrogation of any kind."

"Sure…"

"And neither are you."

_Whatever you say, Prowl… None of you understand what's going on with us, so it's easy for you to consider us traitors. It's so easy to preach the all too goodie-good speech, but when it comes to trust in your own comrades in arms... What do we have to do for you slag-suckers to realize we are Autobots as you are? Wisdom doesn't come with rubber wheels, I can see that!_

Prowl sat in one of the chairs of his quarters, not even hinting that his guest to do the same.

Slingshot shot him a very unfriendly look. _Fine with me. I would never dare to get comfortable in your presence, you sparkless spawn of a glitch…_

"As difficult as you may find it to believe, this is not an official matter, Slingshot."

Slingshot snorted. "Is it not? Are you telling me you're not recording our conversation for whatever _official _purposes you can come up with later?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Yeah, right… Look, if you only wanted to know if I let Wildrider go, the answer is yes, I did it. But if you want to know why, well, I mean no disrespect, _Sir, _but that only concerns my teammates and I."

"I don't pretend to violate the privacy of your team."

"That's curious, 'cause that's exactly what you're doing! Just cram it in your vent, Prowl, even if I did tell you, you wouldn't understand. You are no Combiner, you just wouldn't get it."

Slingshot scowled at the thought of the Autobot Second in Command combining with someone. It just wouldn't work. Combiners were made of teammates, _real_ teammates, not individualist tailpipe-suckers who loved to sneak behind everybody's backs pretending to have a low profile whilst they were pulling the strings—

"I suppose that you include the Decepticon Wildrider in your definition of teammates."

The statement took Slingshot by surprise, and for some reason it also angered him. "And what if I do?"

It was as if Slingshot hadn't spoken at all. Prowl looked at the data pad in his hands. "I'm not really interested in the circumstances that motivated you to allow the escape of a dangerous prisoner, but the events that happened afterwards."

"I insist, didn't you and Prime question Silverbolt earlier? Besides, if you would have arrived on time and witnessed what happened by yourself, you could've spared yourself of all this questioning… I guess sometimes it sucks to be wingless, huh?"

"Silverbolt's report was imprecise."

"Figures…"

Prowl's slight smile appeared as the most disturbing image Slingshot had seen since the meeting with the Stunticons some hours ago. "You may feel very confident hiding behind your arrogance, but we both know you are doing nothing but fooling yourself."

Slingshot could feel fury boiling inside of him instead of fuel. "I lost a brother, you fragger! You talk about respect so easily and here you are, sticking your nose up the wrong tailpipe!"

That was it. He had crossed a line and he was sure his insubordination wouldn't be taken kindly. But to his surprise, Prowl didn't seem even slightly upset. _Slag, did anything ever bother this cold junk piece? _

"I'm not your enemy, Slingshot. My only intention is helping you and your team."

"Really? And what could you do? Didn't you see what happened today? Frag… why do I even bother…?"

"If you lighten the darkest spots, there may be a way to restore your team as it was. This… malfunction was never contemplated, but that doesn't mean it's not reversible."

Out of insults, Slingshot felt the slightest tingle of hope running through his processor.

Prowl nodded. "We have something in common, Slingshot. We both are extremely loyal to our cause. We don't believe in shades of grey concerning the Decepticons and their evil ways, which must be the main reason why you are feeling so uncomfortable – and traitorous to yourself – for accepting one of them into the core of your own team, your family."

Slingshot didn't even try to answer, his silence the best accomplice to his guilt.

"I'm not so rigid that I can't accept and adapt to change. We are Transformers; we change, we evolve. But when change involves nothing but relapse and corruption, then it's my duty to intervene."

Slingshot lifted an arm, as if with that movement he could stop Prowl and wherever he was going to. For the first time in his life, Slingshot understood why Prowl was the bot behind Optimus Primus and no one else.

"Wait… Just… just what are you trying to tell me?"

Prowl's countenance didn't change, but Slingshot could have sworn he saw an angry glimpse in his optics. "The Decepticons are our sworn enemies, but they are organized, rational in their goals. Wildrider, on the other hand, has nothing of the logic that characterizes his comrades in arms. He's an aberration, as all the Stunticons are. He is not even a Cybertronian. His addition to the Autobot ranks is not even to be contemplated."

_Yeah, tell me something new… _His rage depleted, Slingshot was forced to confront again his new eternal dilemma. What he wanted had nothing to do with what his essence dictated.

He looked aside. "I released Wildrider because I needed to know if he was feeling the same that we were. I mean, he returned willingly to us once, so I thought…"

Prowl remained silent. Slaggit, just when his presumptuous interruptions would have been welcome…

"I thought that whatever he did would lead me to Air Raid… or at least to an answer. Slag, I don't even know what I was thinking…"

Now it was Prowl who lifted an arm, but his gesture was one of tranquility. "We'll start from the beginning. No recordings, no protocol. Tell me exactly what happened today, Slingshot, and I give you my word that I will help you to find the answer you are looking for. Unlike the rest of our fellow Autobots, your teammates included, I'm not willing to accept the terms of a change that, I repeat, means nothing but aberration."

Prowl's arm indicated to the free chair. Slingshot sank on it. It wasn't hope, but the lack of any other exit that unleashed his vocalizer.

"Silverbolt contacted Motormaster. The Stunticons agreed to meet us at a neutral spot to reach an agreement concerning Air Raid and Wildrider... at least that's what we thought… At the beginning, everything went okay… as okay as it could be with the Stunticons, I mean… but then…"

Prowl nodded, encouraging him to continue.

Slingshot didn't dare to lift his head. "But then… then everything went to the Pit…"

_To be continued._

* * *

_Dead End's mail is already down, so please don't try to write him fanmail and tell him how gorgeous he is. I already did it, and it didn't work :oP Besides, I just noticed that the site didn't allow me to display it. Bummer...  
_

_Sorry for the absence of Wildrider and Air Raid during this chapter, but I needed to introduce a character that will be very important in the future. The way I see Prowl changed radically after reading All Hail Megatron 15, in which he behaves as a complex and realistic character, not the typical Autobot at all. Unethical? Treacherous? Perhaps… but as Osgood Fielding in 'Some like it hot' said: "Well, nobody is perfect."_

_Now, I'm aware that I left many questions unanswered, so prepare for next chapter, which will be an intense ride._


	13. I just want one little trinket

_Ugh, two months without updating this story… I never meant to take so long, sorry about that._

_Thank you very much for your patience, I'll do my best to reward it. Many thanks as well to my beta reader iratepirate. She said she hardly found typos this time! _

_Okay, I should remind you that for the next couple of chapters we will take a little journey to the past. Just some hours, nothing serious, but time has come to clarify the events that happened during last chapter._

_Here we go!_

* * *

**Chapter 13**

**I just want one little trinket **

It was obvious to Dead End that retrieving Wildrider was going to take something more than just a couple of hours. As much as Motormaster _wanted_ it to happen, Dead End didn't even have to be sarcastic to realize that three Stunticons rallying the Autobot base and rescuing one of their own was rather on the crazy side, exactly the kind of plan that Wildrider would have followed nevertheless. Sometimes Wildrider's lunacy and Motormaster's brutal ways were more related than any of them would have liked to admit. Despite their differences, it would have been impossible to deny that the Stunticons had been sparked at the same time.

But considering Wildrider one of their own was another statement that required a further revision. Dead End was cold enough to realize and accept that Wildrider didn't belong to the Stunticon Gestalt anymore, but that wasn't one of the many statements destined to leave him indifferent. Time, habit, non-interrupted interaction, sharing the same programming… No matter the reasons, Dead End was used to Wildrider's permanent presence, his insanity a white noise within the bond that with the time had turned into a bearable – and somehow pleasant – buzz, a malfunction that was a pivotal component of the Stunticon Gestalt. It would have been too much to say that Dead End actually missed his most wayward teammate – _former teammate? _– but his absence was proving to be very uncomfortable.

"So what's the plan?" Drag Strip said whilst he drove erratically beside Motormaster, eager to pass him. "We ram into the Ark, slag the Autobots and rescue Wildrider?"

Anybody else would have thought that Drag Strip was being ironic, but Dead End knew his teammate well enough to realize that he was speaking seriously. Drag Strip was generally keen on stupid/suicidal ideas, but he had processor activity enough to realize when a plan was too far on the wild side, even for Stunticon standards. The fact that he was disregarding prudency so much only proved how much he wanted Wildrider back. That wasn't strange, considering that Drag Strip spent more time with Wildrider than with any other Stunticon.

"Are you getting more idiotic every day?" Motormaster growled. "Do you think all the Autobots are as useless as you are and will stay watching as we ram their slagging base?"

"What are we going to do, then?" Drag Strip sounded hurt, although he should have been used to Motormaster's constant attacks to his self-esteem. "Wildrider may be in trouble right now."

"Wildrider can take care of himself," Motormaster replied curtly.

"Besides, the Autobots harming Wildrider is unlikely to happen. I dare to assume that the Aerialbots will secure his safety," Dead End said, unable to remain oblivious to the wave of rancor that spread through the Gestalt bond at the mention of a supposed teammate that was no more. "I presume you have an alternative to attacking the Autobot base, Motormaster?"

Motormaster nodded in the shape of a gray cloud of smoke that forced Dead End to brake in order to protect his glossy finish. "We aren't raiding the Autoscum hole today. They will return Wildrider to us."

Despite his hurt pride, Drag Strip couldn't resist and positioned himself right beside Motormaster. "And how do you plan to make that happen? It's not like you brought the Aerialbot with us so we can trade him for—"

Motormaster veered and impacted Drag Strip, almost forcing him off of the road. "The Aerialbot goes nowhere! We will keep him _and _Wildrider. Just stick to the coordinates I gave you and shut the frag up!"

Drag Strip grumbled something but refrained from further complaining, at least to the wrong listener. Soon he found out that Dead End was a more suitable pair of audios for all the venom he wasn't able to spit.

"And why in the world would the Autobots let Wildrider go just like that?" Drag Strip said, being careful to stay out of Motormaster's audio range.

Dead End almost sighed. "With the proper persuasion, I suppose… Haven't you checked our destination, Drag Strip?"

"Not really… I just know we are definitely not heading to the Ark!"

This time Dead End allowed himself the very much needed sigh. "Portland, quadrant G-19."

"Doesn't ring any bell," Drag Strip said after a pause in which he must have analyzed the coordinates that didn't mean a thing to him.

"If my data banks are not mistaken, that is the location of two of the humans that the Autobots keep as pets. My guess is that Motormaster is thinking of acquiring hostages to exchange for Wildrider."

"Oh… not such a bad plan. As a matter of fact, I had already thought about it, but I forgot about it because it was rather simple, the kind that only a mindless fragger would follow."

Dead End had nothing to say regarding Drag Strip's eternal need to state his supposed superiority and his hate for Motormaster. That was part of the list of things that made Dead End yawn, even considering that he was a robot and he couldn't actually yawn. So he just kept driving, trying to focus on avoiding anything that could scratch his paint job and doing his best to keep that uncomfortable feeling about Wildrider away from his processor.

"What about a race?"

Give it to Drag Strip to ask for something like that in a moment in which the destruction of the Stunticon Gestalt was a soon to be reality, but it was easy to read between Drag Strip's lines. What else could a Stunticon do when everything else was lost? Race.

"Pass Motormaster and see if he approves."

"Motormaster can come and kiss my exhaust. Come on, just a little race! I'll give you advantage this time."

Dead End's advanced radars soon pinpointed the exact location of the place in which the humans known as Spike and Sparkplug repaired damaged cars, although he had seen the place once and it seemed more like a graveyard. What was the point in repairing cars that would end up rusted? The eternal contradiction of life, robotic or not, would always be the constant stubbornness to prolong the unavoidable.

"Okay, go and frag yourself," Drag Strip spat, his disturbance growing by the minute. "Just don't come later and ask me to polish your back, 'cause I won't."

That was fine with Dead End. He could always ask Breakdown, or even Wildrider if he was in one of his not-so-insane moods—

Dead End hit his brakes instinctively. That wouldn't happen. Wildrider would not be there to polish his back, not today, probably not ever.

"What the frag is wrong with you?" Motormaster yelled at him from the top of the formation. "Overlook the rear guard once again and you'll return with one tire less today!"

Dead End put his engine to work and recovered the lost distance without saying a word, the shock of the realization he had just made still troubling him. That lead him to one of the dormant states which his teammates so easily confused with indifference.

"You got mail."

It was only after a second that Dead End realized that Drag Strip had said something. "Mm… what?"

"Mail! That beep on your console just sounded… Isn't it supposed to tell you every time you got new mail in that ridiculous human account you opened? I'd be careful if I were you – which fortunately I'm not, by the way. You don't want _you know who _to realize you're still into that human reading nonsense."

Dead End didn't even consider telling his teammate that, if Drag Strip were him, he would have a better looking chassis. What would the point of that be? As much as they both loved to polish their frames, their only certain destination was to rot. "Your concern is appreciated, Drag Strip. Now why don't you maintain your current speed as I take care of the rear guard and— oh…"

"What is it? You reconsidered and wanna race?"

Dead End didn't reply. Normally he was indifferent to practically all sorts of things, but receiving a mail from the leader of the Aerialbots was something that managed to surprise him, if only for a moment.

"Dead End?"

"Change of plans. You may consider forgetting about your desires to race, Drag Strip, because it's another finish line that we will be seeing today," Dead End finally spoke, increasing his speed and heading toward Motormaster.

* * *

"No… That's not what I said… Look, could you just—?"

Fireflight cast a sad glance toward Silverbolt, who looked more inexperienced than ever.

"Do you guys think this is a good idea? I mean, it's not like Silverbolt is getting anywhere…"

Slingshot scowled. "Well, what did you expect, Fireflight? Have you ever tried to actually _talk _to Motormaster sometime?"

"Remember that threats don't count as talking," Skydive said.

"My suggestion benefits both of our teams!" the three Aerialbots watched in surprise as their normally composed leader challenged the edge of the table with his fist. "Wildrider is in a completely functional status and I have no intentions to keep him away from you, but you know it's not as simple as just letting him go!"

Silverbolt provided the world with the uncommon sight of a grimace, but almost immediately his self call to patience that his teammates had seen so many times in their leader took the place of rage on his face plates. "Alright… Your conditions, my coordinates. I don't— Can you please let me speak, Motormaster? I just don't want to be close to any human settlement, alright?"

Another pause and the Aerialbots definitely didn't want to know what Motormaster was barking at their leader.

"We can't trust the Stunticons."

"Silverbolt knows that, 'Flight," Skydive said. "But at some point we have to meet with them. What else do you want us to do?"

"Maybe we'll end up having another member exchange," Slingshot said bitterly. "Care trying to merge with Menasor, 'Dive? What about you, Fireflight? We have one leg, we could go for the arm now."

Both Skydive and Fireflight shot a dirty look at Slingshot, but refrained from saying anything on the matter. The lack of humour, even of the darkest type, in the voice of their brother only showed that he was as desperate as they were.

They were about to sulk in the deepest silence they had come across since their creation when Silverbolt walked towards them.

"It's done. Motormaster accepted my coordinates. We're meeting them in three breems."

"Are we doing the right thing, Silverbolt?" Fireflight said, sounding like a lost child.

"I don't know," Silverbolt's sincerity could be so discouraging sometimes. "But if we don't find a solution soon we will lose Air Raid forever."

"Maybe we should ask for help? Optimus Prime could—"

"No fragging way!" Slingshot interrupted Fireflight. "You already saw how the Autobots want to deal with this. As far as they concern, there's a Stunticon pest in this base that has to be eradicated, nothing more. Prime may say whatever slag about the lives of his Autobots being sacred, but the truth is that we are not within that selected group. We are Aerialbots! We were built only because the Autobots needed wings to save their ground-pound afts and what happened after we did? We became their errand boys in the skies! Prime cares more for the smallest flesh creature on this planet than for all of us together, and you all know that's the truth!"

"He'll care even less now that we have a four wheeled psycho in our team," Skydive said with contempt. "Do you think we can be still called Aerialbots?"

Fireflight shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Wildrider can actually fly…"

"This talk stops now!" Silverbolt stated firmly. "You all are lucky that we are in a hurry, otherwise we would spend the rest of the day talking about all that nonsense you just said."

"We are meeting the Stunticons, then?" Fireflight asked.

"We leave immediately," Silverbolt nodded. "Slingshot, you're staying."

"What? WHY?"

"The last thing I need is you and your problems with differentiating fighting from talking, especially when Motormaster has serious issues concerning listening. Besides, somebody has to stay and watch Wildrider."

"I thought we would take him with us…" Skydive said with the smallest tingle of hope.

Silverbolt shook his head, reading between his teammate's lines. "No… not yet. I mean… Air Raid will remain in the Nemesis as well, but hopefully not for too long. He and Wildrider are no hostages, even less prisoners… it's not like we can just trade them…"

Skydive put a reassuring arm on his leader's shoulder. "Don't start to babble, it's not the time for that. We are all together in this."

Silverbolt nodded, silently thanking the very much needed support. "Alright… to the skies now, Aerialbots!"

* * *

Slingshot remained looking at the same wall for an undetermined amount of empty seconds after his teammates' departure. Opposite to his initial reaction, he wasn't in the mood to follow them anymore. It was as if everything had lost importance. Something, fate, bad luck, or a curse, had spoken, and suddenly he felt apathetic, more than helpless, and he wasn't sure if it was a welcome change.

He was in the same numb state when he turned around and a closed door entered his range of vision.

_What if…?_

The possibilities started to flow through his processor with a surprising speed considering his apathy, a relentless parade of unwelcome guests that made him realize the small insignificant dot in the Universe he was.

He was still a robotic zombie when he opened the door and crossed the threshold.

He found Wildrider in the same position in which he had been since his return to the base, prostrated on the berth, one his arms hanging lax and the other supporting his head. Gestalt bond aside, Slingshot knew that an immobile Wildrider was an odd Wildrider. More than that, it was an impossible Wildrider. Insanity was a force in continuous movement and seeing it so frozen was disturbing, even to Slingshot, who had to constantly remind himself how much he hated that Stunticon scum.

"Hey," he said flatly.

"Hey!" he repeated, his energy returning to his voice and to the kick he planted on the berth, as dead as the bot sprawled across it.

Wildrider was lurched forward slightly with the kick, but aside from that, he didn't make any movement of his own.

"I'm talking to you, Stunticon! Get up."

"F.O." Slingshot had to adjust his audio receptors to listen to the low, weak voice.

"_F.O.?"_

"Frag off…" Wildrider murmured.

"Fine with me. I'll be happy to frag myself after we're done here, but you're going to have to say it to my face! Stand up, slagger! I'm done talking to two pieces of furniture here!" Slingshot said, kicking the berth so strongly that this time he hurt himself.

Wildrider pushed himself up with his elbows and looked over his shoulder, casting a glance that Slingshot was sure didn't belong to his usual lunatic self. It was as if Wildrider had been deprived of everything he used to be, life included. For some reason, Slingshot felt very disturbed by that sight. He felt pain.

"I already told big lips how to contact the bos— Motormaster… What else do you want?"

Good question. Slingshot would have liked to have an answer, but he was feeling more and more absent by the minute, as if he wasn't himself anymore. He wondered if an important part of him had been taken away from the moment Air Raid had become a Stunticon. He was feeling a strong connection with Wildrider, perhaps the replacement for an empty space he wasn't willing to accept.

"Why did you come back here?" Slingshot asked curtly. "You were already on your way back to your teammates… Why did you have to come back here?"

Wildrider seemed more confused than ever. It was as if Slingshot was talking to him in a foreign language. Slingshot knew that Wildrider certainly had tried to answer that same thing many times, his glitched processor working overtime in an effort to understand something that was so fragging unexplainable and so fragging simple at the same time.

"Do know what the other Aerialbots are doing right now?" Slingshot almost yelled, his impatience growing at the same rate as his desperation.

"Racing?" Wildrider said the most natural thing to him.

Slingshot shook his head vigorously. "Think about it, freak. Why do you think Silverbolt was in such a rush to contact Motormaster? _My _teammates are on their way to meet with yours right now as we speak."

That caught Wildrider's interest, as he proved by slowly sitting on the berth. "What... for?"

Slingshot saw through the former Stunticon's quietness. He had heard something about Wildrider's glitched processor, how it could process tons of ideas at the same time, but completely unable to order them and, even less, give them a purpose. He realized he was witnessing one of those moments, one in which Wildrider was completely unpredictable, and thus, dangerous.

"Why don't you go and find it out yourself?" he heard himself saying.

Wildrider's optics narrowed, giving him, for once, the appearance of a normal, centered robot.

"Didn't you hear, weirdo?" Slingshot spoke again, this time totally aware of what he was saying. He punched a switch on the wall and opened the door. "Go and see if you are a Stunticon, Aerialbot or whatever slag you are!"

Never had a transformation cog been put in motion so fast. Wildrider tore down the berth and a table as his four wheels settled on the floor, his excitement and fear working along with his mechanisms.

Slingshot barely had time to step aside and avoid getting pummeled by the gray blurry figure that once had been a Ferrari. He didn't know if he had done the right or the wrong thing. He just knew that he had done what he needed to do.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Now don't think I'm not aware that I left this chapter practically in the same place I left last one. Thing is that this was going to be a huge, huge chapter, so I decided to split it in two, also for dramatic purposes. What's coming next is going to be intense, so I thought it needed to be separated. Expect an update in just a few days, and make sure to have a safety belt because we have a wild ride ahead us – pun intended._

_Thank you for reading and please let me know your opinions._


	14. A flying car! How droll

_As promised, here you have a fast update. This is going to be one intense ride, so please attach to your seat belts or to whatever you can. _

_Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate. She revised this chapter the very same day I sent it to her, so I take it she liked it._

_No more preambles. I hope you enjoy this update, my favorite of this story so far._

* * *

**Chapter 14**

**A flying car! How droll  
**

At first sight, it looked like a giant chess game in its final stage. On one side, there were the winged ones, standing straight with their pair of extra limbs pointing towards the sky. And there were also the ones with wheels, more like scattered through the junkyard than actually aligned in any kind of formation. Both Kings were dangerously close; one cautious, the other one deadly.

"Is there a reason why I should fear an ambush, Motormaster?" Silverbolt asked, keeping his optics on Dead End, who was leaning on a pile of shattered automobiles, visibly distant from his group.

"It's natural that you talk about fear. You have been scared all your life," Motormaster responded cruelly.

Silverbolt's face hardened, but the gears of self-control were certainly working inside his frame. "Where's Breakdown?"

Motormaster cast a glance toward the two Aerialbots positioned behind their leader. "Babysitting, just as your missing teammate."

"What's Air Raid's status?"

"Alive."

"That's not what I asked, Motormaster."

The tension between both was escalating. It wouldn't take too long for one of the sides to make a move.

The Stunticon leader smirked. "Drag Strip! Was the Aerialbot scum complete when we left him?"

From his place behind Motormaster, Drag Strip laughed, a sound he seemed to like. "That depends. Does having his wings torn out count as complete?"

"You fraggin' psycho!" Skydive said, taking a step forward and subspacing his Nega-gun.

"Stay where you are, Skydive!" Silverbolt contained his teammate before addressing Motormaster again with a trembling fist. "Do you think this is a game?"

Motormaster shook his head slowly, the gesture emanating nothing but superiority. "Fortunately for you it's not, otherwise I would've already won it."

The board seemed to close around the Aerialbots, the Stunticons gaining an important advantage without moving a single square.

"We didn't harm Wildrider," Silverbolt stated seriously.

"Your mistake," Motormaster spat. "You should try and see what happens. He's not that easy to harm."

"I don't_ want_ to do it! Can you please understand that all I want is to restore things as they were? I want Air Raid back!"

Silverbolt's little outburst seemed to have an effect on Motormaster, or at least managed to erase his smirk.

"What's your suggestion, then? You talk too much but you only manage to come up with the same slag."

"I…" Silverbolt hesitated. "I was hoping there could be a way to reverse the procedure…"

Motormaster pointed his finger towards his rival. "I thought about that the single moment this entire fraggin' curse started! What do I need you for? Stay out of my way, that's something you can do, and return Wildrider to me or I'll make you do it! I may be generous and return your glitch of a teammate in less than five pieces."

Silverbolt stepped forward. "There's no way I'm going to allow you to hurt _our _brother! And whatever procedure you are thinking of, _we _are going to be part of it, make no mistake about tha—"

Silverbolt was propelled towards the floor, the mark of Motormaster's fist still smoking on his face.

"Aerialbots, stand down!" he cried when he felt his teammates on the edge of pouncing toward his aggressor. He got on one knee and looked at Motormaster, who had folded his arms across his chest. "I thought we had agreed to a truce."

"Oh, and the truce still stands," Motormaster replied, smirking, "otherwise you and your teammates would be junk by now."

"I see," Silverbolt stood up and rubbed his cheek plates. "I should have guessed you would try to solve things like this. You don't know any other way."

"Is there any other way at all?"

"Not any you would even try to listen to. Alright, you have my attention, Motormaster. What's your suggestion?"

"You and I fight," Motormaster said bluntly. "The winner takes all, the loser retreats and waits."

"Takes all? You mean both Air Raid and Wildrider?"

"You are not as stupid as you look, Aerialbot."

Silverbolt remained silent for a moment. "Fine… I accept."

"Did you lose a bolt?" Skydive complained immediately. "You can't solve something as delicate as this with some brutish duel! Air Raid's life it's at stake!"

"Silverbolt, you may want to reconsider…" Fireflight almost pleaded.

"When I said stand down I meant it, Aerialbots," Silverbolt said severely before addressing his enemy again. "Remember that your honour is on the line, Motormaster, in case you are considering failing your word."

"Honour is the last thing you should worry about," Motormaster said, one second before attacking with devastating force.

* * *

The sounds of battle were always bringers of joy – of course, when they didn't imply his own pain or any kind of damage to his polished finish. Drag Strip chuckled to himself as he saw Motormaster and Silverbolt clashing in the middle of the junkyard, such a pleasant sight indeed. Hopefully they would tear each other to pieces, and neither he nor Dead End would have to lift a finger to give their leader a proper funeral ceremony. They were already in a waste disposal place after all.

The fight seemed uneven. Motormaster was bigger and stronger than the Aerialbot, but Drag Strip didn't lose hope. The Autobots always had tricks up their sleeves, and hopefully fate would show the Aerialbot its good face. Then Drag Strip would kill the Autobot, rescue Wildrider and become the new leader of the Stunticons. Beautiful.

Still savoring the honey of anticipated glory, Drag Strip opened a private channel on his comm link. _"Hey, Dead End."_

"_Mm," _the indifferent response came after a moment.

"_Who do you think will win?"_

"_Who cares?"_

"_Ten energon cubes on the Aerialbot, and my Need for Speed games."_

"_Big deal. Ten energon cubes is nothing, and I don't like videogames."_

"_Okay, what do you want then?"_

"_What do you want to lose? It's obvious that the Aerialbot has nothing against Motormaster."_

"_So you say— whoa!"_

"_I'll rephrase. What do you want to lose _besides _your head? Silverbolt almost separated it from your body."_

Drag Strip stepped back and shook the dust from his legs as the fallen Aerialbot got to his feet and returned to his fight. _"Mmph, he can consider himself lucky that he's fighting Motormaster and not me… yet. Besides, I'm sure Motormaster threw him in my direction on purpose!"_

"_I don't think Motormaster gives you that kind of importance."_

"_He's always been jealous of me!"_

"_Whatever you say, Drag Strip."_

The sound of metal denting and a very familiar voice groaning in pain indicated that the Aerialbot was no weakling. _"See?" _Drag Strip insisted through the comm link. _"I knew that Autobot had something up his sleeve!"_

"_Well, you don't expect him to stay still as Motormaster destroys him, do you?"_

"_Let's just hope the fragger doesn't subspace his sword or the Aerialslag is history—" _Drag Strip froze as a third Stunticon entered his private channel with Dead End.

"_Dead End, Drag Strip!"_

"_Yes? Shouldn't you be focusing your attention on your current fight, Motormaster? The Autobot is proving to be stronger than he looked," _Dead End said.

"_Shut the frag up and be ready to take down the two remaining Aerialscums. I want them offlined and secured, got it?"_

Drag Strip sneered. _"You want us to attack the Aerialbots? What about the truce and your, heh, what did the Autobot say… honour?"_

"_Just see it done!" _Motormaster ordered before ending the communication on his side whilst he tackled Silverbolt at the same time.

"_That will go straight to his paintjob," _Dead End said flatly.

"_Whose paintjob?" _Drag Strip scowled. _"Okay, I'll take care of the goodie-good one. Skydive is all yours."_

Drag Strip had chosen the easiest rival. He was aware that Dead End knew that, but didn't mind either. Certainly his pessimistic teammate was thinking that, at the end, the outcome would be the same. No matter how many times the Stunticons fought their sworn enemies, one day it would be the last one.

A nearby explosion shook Dead End, who was forced to break his still posture to cover himself from the debris.

"What were you saying about losing heads?" Drag Strip mocked, this time using his vocalizer.

Dead End made good use of the annoying cloud of dust and smoke around him and prepared his laser cannon. _"I guess we have our orders," _he said through the comm link, not being able to repress the slight tingle of embarrassment that circulated through the Gestalt bond and which naturally didn't go unnoticed by Drag Strip.

"'_kay, Dead End, here's how this will go: I'll sneak through that shed over there whilst you attack your Aerialbot slag. I'll cover your back and take down Fireflight at the same time."_ Oh, how he loved to give orders. It suited him just fine.

Static in the comm channel exposed Dead End's hesitation. _"I fail to see the logic in such plan."_

"_What? But it's kind of obvious! Look, the thing is that we will slag both Aerialbots, okay? Now see it done!" _Drag Strip ended the communication, satisfied with his natural leadership skills. He had been built to command, there was no mistake about that. It was just a matter of time because he showed who the real leader of the Stunticons was.

He made his way through the piles of rusted metal and found the shed, which looked more like a giant tin can made of spare parts. He sneaked carefully through the entrance, keeping his optical visor occupied on his own paint job instead of what was ahead. That's why he was sincerely surprised when he found the Aerialbot Skydive standing on the other side.

"Going somewhere? The fight hasn't finished," the winged glitch greeted him.

Drag Strip cursed. He was supposed to fight Fireflight, not Skydive!

Still, he managed to sneer. "Yeah, suddenly I had the urgency to lubricate my valves. You know, when you have to do it, you have to do it. Mind giving me some privacy here or do you want to take a look?"

Skydive didn't seem amused. "The fate of both our Gestalts is being decided out there, so please return to your seat. You don't want to miss the show."

Drag Strip looked over his shoulder. "Who's winning, by the way?"

Skydive folded his arms across his chest. "Who do you think?"

Of course that Drag Strip would have liked to see Motormaster's aft plates handed to him, but he had the honour of his team to protect. "Motormaster, obviously. He will make Aerialbot soup with your bot."

"That is yet to be seen," Skydive scowled. "Now get back. I'm not going to repeat it."

The Aerialbot's tone of voice awakened the always rebellious side of Drag Strip. "Was that an order? I don't take orders from Autobots."

"Take it as you want, just do as I say or there will be trouble. I have no quarrels against having our own private little fight in here."

Drag Strip considered his enemy's words. Of course he was willing for a fight, he was _always_ willing for a fight. But it was one thing to ambush a stupid Autobot and other to have a fully prepared rival ready to mess with his paintjob.

"Okay…" he finally said, turning around and trying to sound resigned. "Guess my valves have to wait."

"I'd say so," he heard the voice behind him.

_Closer, closer… Foolish Autobot, you should know better than to walk behind me._

Gravito-gun already in hand, Drag Strip turned around as fast he could and shot. Skydive was impacted point blank on the chest, and was immediately propelled upwards only to meet the hard surface of the ceiling, accompanied by a ton of junk.

"Did you enjoy your flight?" Drag Strip laughed, seeing his enemy returning brutally to the ground. "I hope you did, 'cause I'm going to send you all the way back to Cybertron!"

He pointed his weapon towards the fallen Aerialbot and congratulated himself for his good luck. Explosions outside could be heard as well, which meant that Motormaster was taking the fight to a serious level, or that Dead End had decided to engage the remaining Aerialbot. But none of that mattered. Drag Strip was about to finish one of his sworn rivals and that's what mattered. Perhaps he wouldn't make it to leader of the Stunticons that day, but still there was a good amount of glory for him to collect. He could imagine Megatron praising him for his achievement, maybe promoting him…

"Uh, you'd better not do that," he heard a voice to his left, a very familiar voice.

He turned to the sound of the voice and almost dropped his Gravito-gun when he saw Wildrider standing very close to him.

Drag Strip's mouth plates had never been so stretched. Surprise, happiness, confusion, excitement… all together pounding in his unstable spark.

"Where the slag did you come from?" was all he managed to say. He couldn't believe it. Wildrider was there!

Wildrider broke optic contact with him and walked toward the Aerialbot, who was sprawled over the debris with his optics off. "I made a door," Wildrider said, pointing toward a hole in a wall.

Drag Strip was so overjoyed that he almost didn't notice when Wildrider knelt before Skydive and slowly rolled him over.

"But how did you— Ah, who cares? What matters is that you're here! I can't fraggin' believe it!"

The first dot of mud appeared in Drag Strip's excitement. Wildrider didn't seem to share his happiness. He wasn't even looking at him. He was still kneeling beside Skydive, looking at the scorch mark on his chest plates.

"Care to finish that Aerialbot scum and join the fight out there? Wait till Dead End sees you… and Breakdown. He's at the base right now but I bet he'll be thrilled. Heh, race you to the Nemesis when we're done here. I'll give you an advantage, how about that? And… and I'll let you use my polishing wax, all of it if you want. Oh, and you're not gonna believe this, but Motormaster was really worried about you. I could notice!"

Wildrider didn't react. Now that was just becoming unnerving. It was as if Drag Strip hadn't spoken at all. All that seemed to exist in Wildrider's world was that wound on the slagging Autobot's chest.

"Wildrider," Drag Strip said carefully.

Wildrider finally looked at him. "Mm?"

"Why aren't you shooting the Aerialfrag to pieces?"

The question seemed to surprise Wildrider as well.

Drag Strip snorted and tightened his grip on his Gravito-gun. "Never mind. I'll do it myself. Get out of the way!"

Wildrider didn't move.

"Didn't you hear me? Move, slaggit!"

Wildrider looked from Drag Strip to the offlined Aerialbot. "You shouldn't do that… Nope, not a good idea at all."

Drag Strip threw his patience to the Pit. "What the slag is wrong with you? Did those Aerialbots remove your struts or what?"

"I… I just think you shouldn't hurt him, that's all."

Drag Strip felt his denta plates gritting. Why wasn't Wildrider happy to see him? They have been away for very disturbing days, and now that they were together again Wildrider didn't seem to care. And why was he so worried about the Pit-face Aerialbot? Drag Strip scowled, jealousy making its way through his overworked processor, opening wounds but offering no explanations.

"And why shouldn't I hurt him?" he heard himself saying, his voice sounding more rancorous than ever.

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. It just feels wrong."

"I'm getting really tired of this!" Drag Strip spat, taking one sonorous step forward. "If you are not going to do this, stay out of my way! I'll show this Autobot slag what my Gravito-gun can do!"

Wildrider seemed more and more like a stranger. He looked from Skydive to Drag Strip again. "Drag, come on… I can't let you do that, you know that, don't you?"

The fact that Wildrider had called him by the familiar name in which he used to address him only infuriated Drag Strip more. A very different feeling should have been operating after such familiarity, but there was something so distant, foreign in the way he had said it…

Still, Drag Strip made his best effort to give his voice a cold tone. "Oh yeah? And what are you going to do to stop me?"

Drag Strip prepared himself for a fight. He was _eager _for a fight. It wouldn't be the first time in which he and Wildrider exchanged punches, only that this time he would have to do it a little bit more seriously, that was all. He needed to return Wildrider to his senses as soon as possible and then they could go home.

But Wildrider didn't seem to be in the mood to start a fight. The entire Universe collapsed around Drag Strip when the mech that had been closer to him in his entire life leaned over the Aerialbot enemy and covered him with his body.

"Okay, shoot now."

"What... are you doing? _Why _are you doing it?"

Wildrider shook his head slightly, both of his hands besides Skydive's helm. "I don't know…"

Drag Strip couldn't believe it. He felt insulted, stepped on as if all the Gestalt robots together were using him as the ball of a very cruel basketrek game. He put both of his hands around his gun and forced himself to remain steady.

"You brought this on yourself, Wildrider."

And he shot.

* * *

_Aim, aim_… Never in his life had Drag Strip been so careful with that issue. He felt very tempted to target the Aerialbot's head, but that increased the possibilities of hitting Wildrider as well. And as much as he wanted to shoot his blasted brother in that moment, he chose the ground instead, close enough to send Wildrider flying, but not to harm him.

His calculations proved to be wrong when the impact of his Gravito-gun sent both Wildrider and Skydive spiraling through another self-made entrance, bringing the shed down in the process, along with Drag Strip's hope.

* * *

Entangled in a deadly embrace, Silverbolt and Motormaster stopped struggling the moment two shaken bodies fell in the middle of the junkyard, sent there by a powerful energy that made fun of gravity.

Not only them, but also Fireflight and Dead End – who hadn't moved from their respective places – stared astonished at the newcomers.

"Now this is unexpected," Dead End said, being the first one in overcome the initial surprise.

One of the two fallen Transformers didn't remain motionless, though. Wildrider got to one knee and looked instinctively towards his right, where Silverbolt had disengaged from Motormaster's grip. Wildrider didn't even look at his former leader.

"I think he's hurt," he said simply, as if the future of two Gestalt teams were not being decided in that bare moment.

Fireflight hurried to get to his damaged teammate's side, but a bolt of energy coming from Motormaster's sword stopped him before he could reach his objective.

"You stay where you are, Aerialbot! The same goes to you!" Motormaster roared, pointing his sword towards Silverbolt before returning his attention to Wildrider. "You idiot! If you had already managed to escape from the Autobots you could have radioed me and spared me from this circus!"

Wildrider didn't seem to understand. It was as if he was noticing Motormaster's presence for the first time. "I didn't escape. They kinda, uh, let me go."

Motormaster narrowed his optics, considering the words only to disregard them almost immediately. "Whatever. Now finish that Aerialbot and get back in formation!"

Wildrider kept his empty stare whilst Motormaster's sword remained pointed at Silverbolt, who didn't seem in a hurry to intervene.

"Are you fraggin' deaf? I said kill him!"

The tension stretched to its limit, as well as the silence. A metal panel that had remained standing after the collapse of the shed chose that precise moment to crash, although none of the Transformers present paid the slightest attention to it.

Motormaster stepped forward, his optics vomiting fire. "I gave you an order, Wildrider! KILL THE AUTOBOT SCUM!"

"He won't do it," Silverbolt calmly said. "And you know the reason as well as I do."

"You…" Motormaster said, trembling in pure rage. "This is your fault! Yours and your team's! Whatever you did to Wildrider you will pay for right now with your fraggin' lives!"

Motormaster raised his sword but before he could do anything a round of laser fire snatched it from his fingers. All the optics went upwards, where Slingshot floated in mid air, his Neutron-rifle aimed at the Stunticon leader.

"You may want to reconsider who pays and who charges, Motormouth!" he said. "You and your team are outnumbered."

Motormaster cast a frantic glance behind him, where Dead End and Drag Strip were standing with the most idiotic looks they had ever had. But almost immediately rage took the shape of an evil smirk on the features of the Stunticon leader.

"Outnumbered?" he hissed. "I always knew you were an idiot, Aerialbot, but I'm surprised you can't make a simple addition. We are four Stunticons."

Slingshot snorted. "You are the one with a fried central processor. I see _five _Aerialbots here, which means my team is complete."

Motormaster seemed to become bigger, confident in his victory on all accounts. "There is only one member of my team missing, _one,_ but we can perfectly function without him. The time has come to correct whatever slag happened in our Gestalt. Watch and die, Autoscum! STUNTICONS, TRANSFORM AND MERGE INTO MENASOR!"

"Wait!" Dead End said, exercising for the first time the abilities of shouting and running towards his leader, two skills that not even himself knew he had. Something very serious was happening if even the unbreakable was being broken.

Motormaster stared in awe at the normally reserved Dead End, who was grabbing him by the arm in another excess that Dead End would have never conceded. Not until the current day.

"We can't merge…" Dead End said, fear tingling his voice. "There's only three of us… there's no way—"

Dead End hit the ground heavily when Motormaster backhanded him, but he wasn't the receiver of Motormaster next words.

"Transform and merge, Wildrider. NOW!"

Wildrider looked from one leader to the other one, a child lost in a sand box looking for any glimpse of reality.

Motormaster advanced threateningly. "Didn't you hear me, you fraggin' idiot? TRANSFORM! Return to Menasor and end this fragging joke!"

"I can't," Wildrider finally spoke.

Motormaster seized Wildrider by the neck so fast that nobody had time to react. "What do you mean you can't? You will return to Menasor right now, do you understand?"

Wildrider didn't try to release himself, his body brutally shaken by the desperation of the one mech who wantedhim back more than anything he had ever wanted.

"I can't…" he said again, once Motormaster's grip on his neck plates allowed him to speak again. "I wouldn't know how to do it. I guess I forgot it."

Motormaster was paralyzed, the fluids inside his frame freezing by the action of a nightmare that would give him no release. He didn't even react when a red dot positioned itself on his head.

"If you're done with your rant you should let him go, unless you wanna lose that ugly head of yours, that is," Skydive said, already recovered from the attack of Drag Strip and pointing firmly towards Motormaster's helm with his Nega-gun.

But Motormaster heard nothing, he even forgot about whoever else was present in that anonymous junkyard that had become his own descent to hell. At that moment, only he and Wildrider existed, his grip on his former teammate burning due to the red-hot line dividing them.

His confusion consumed him, but not immobility. With an animalistic growl that came from the deepest part of his spark and that his vocalizer failed to contain, he threw Wildrider aside and transformed into his alt mode, an eighteen wheel, black Kenworth truck roaring deception and betrayal.

He charged Wildrider with all the potency of his engine, his instincts set to kill. Wildrider didn't move, tacitly accepting a fate he hadn't chosen. He didn't even react when Silverbolt tackled him and saved him from being crushed.

"Stop this madness, Motormaster!" the Aerialbot leader cried. "We didn't come here to fight!"

Motormaster braked thunderously only to charge against his target again. "You came here to die!" Although directly responding to Silverbolt's words, everybody knew that the threat hadn't been meant for him.

Silverbolt closed his arms around Wildrider's waist and activated his thrusters, leaving the ground and once again avoiding being rammed.

Motormaster braked again and transformed back to his robot mode. "Stunticons, kill the Aerialbots! _All of them!"_

Drag Strip and Dead End looked at each other, impossible to say which one was more confused, but when Motormaster started to shoot randomly they seemed to understand that they would be included on the casualties list if they didn't put their weapons into motion.

"Hold your fire, Aerialbots, and take cover!" Silverbolt commanded, noticing how Dead End and Drag Strip were keeping him and Wildrider out of their shooting range. Motormaster, however, seemed to have only one target, so Silverbolt hurried to get out of his reach.

"Last warning, Motormaster!" he said after he had gained some altitude, height not disturbing him for the first time in his life. "Lower your weapons or extreme measures will be taken!"

When his words found nothing but deaf, infuriated audio receptors, Silverbolt knew that Motormaster wouldn't stop until his blind rage found any satisfaction, that he would die to punish the ultimate betrayal, and that he would have no problems in leading his teammates to the same fate. It was in Silverbolt's hands to avoid it.

"Aerialbots, unite and transform into Superion!"

"NO!" Motormaster roared. "You will ruin it all!"

Motormaster's ultimate plea found no echoes. The trigger had been activated and the Aerialbot Gestalt bond was not to be stopped.

Drag Strip fell to his knees, a groan of pain leaving his vocalizer as his two teammates turned into statues of steel at his sides. Seeing Wildrider merging into Superion so naturally and graciously was the ultimate proof of a defeat the Stunticons would never be ready to handle.

Dead End hurried to retreat, dragging his kneeling teammate with him. Motormaster didn't move an inch, didn't even try to avoid the giant arm that literally swept him and buried him within a mountain of piled cars.

"STUNTICONS, SURRENDER," Superion said, his voice displaying a new harmonic that hadn't been there some days before.

"We are doomed… we are doomed I tell you…" Drag Strip mumbled, trembling in Dead End's arms.

For once, Dead End's processor wasn't occupied by fatalist thoughts concerning the unavoidable destiny that awaited him. "Why, Wildrider?" was all he managed to say in very low voice.

The sound of engines added to the already surreal panorama. The Autobots Prowl, Bluestreak and Jazz arrived and transformed into their bipedal forms.

"We have much to discuss about this unauthorized operation, Aerialbots," Prowl said, before addressing Jazz and Bluestreak. "Immobilize the Stunticons and take them into custody."

Dead End and Drag Strip didn't attempt to defend themselves when the Autobots advanced towards them. They were two empty shells, their youth and inexperience showing them exactly how raw a war then never fully understood could be.

But confusion was to be the only winner that day. Gravel started to float as a high sound pierced the air.

"Aarrrgh! What is that?" Bluestreak cried, falling to his knees and uselessly trying to protect his audio receptors with his hands.

Five small figures assumed a battle formation around their master, immune to the destructive sound waves that threatened to deafen everything around.

"Autobots: retreat. Combat protocol: unintended," the newcomer said coldly, stopping his sound attack.

Prowl was already analyzing the situation, somehow seeing his intentions mirrored in those of the newest addition to the twisted scheme the Aerialbots and the Stunticons had created.

"Combat isn't my intention either, Soundwave," he said, rivaling his enemy's lack of emotions. "But violent events have taken place and it's my duty to intervene."

"Intervention: unnecessary. Stunticons and Aerialbots had agreed to a truce."

"A truce that your comrades in arms had no trouble in breaking," Prowl added calmly.

"Mistake: reversible. Truce remains. Retreatment: recommended."

"That could be arranged, if you are willing to do the same."

"Affirmative."

Prowl made a head signal to Jazz, who seemed to read through all the lines spoken. Bluestreak looked like he didn't even know where he was standing, but remained silent whilst the Aerialbots disengaged from Superion and returned to their root modes, four of them tormented by their own betrayal.

Soundwave ignored Dead End and Drag Strip and walked toward the junk piled over the fallen King of the Road. His extended arm was greeted by five gray, dented fingers. Motormaster emerged from the debris with a blank expression on his face, all traces of his rage vanished.

Despite his defeat, he stood straight, clinging to the one thing he had left: his pride. But it wasn't pride that made him cast a last glance towards Wildrider, whose optics were also attached to him.

Soundwave didn't speak, but still Motormaster could hear him inside his head as clear as only truth could be.

"_Wildrider: lost."_

The two words kept drilling Motormaster's processor long after he activated his anti gravitational system and got lost within the last sunrays of the day. Dead End and Drag Strip followed in silence.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Okay, with this chapter we end our little travel to the past we took two chapters ago. After this turn of events, things will change drastically both in the Ark and the Nemesis._

_Who do you think took the lowest hit during this chapter? I have my personal favorite, but I won't tell :oP But yeah, I'm feeling very bad for him…_


	15. Menasor not laugh

_Oops, two months without updating this story… kind of unforgivable considering I had this chapter already written for a while, but I got distracted with some of my other fics. But it's never too late to return to a story that I love, especially now that it's getting to its best part._

_Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate for taking care of my grammar mistakes and for the always welcomed inspiration._

_As for the title of this chapter, you may remember that I said that I would use quotes from both the Stunticons and the Aerialbots to title most of the chapters of this story. Well, this is one of them, said by the big guy himself. In other words, I don't take any responsibility over Menasor's grammar mistakes. Besides, don't forget that Breakdown is one of his components and good wording has never been his best friend._

* * *

**Chapter 15**

**Menasor not laugh**

Motormaster had lost the ability to be surprised. Otherwise, perhaps, he would have acknowledged the fact that the corridors of the Nemesis were unusually empty. Mocking the defeated comrade in arms was a long tradition in the Decepticon ranks; Motormaster had learned that since his very first days of existence. But he had made sure to impart his own lesson as well: those who dared to make fun of the Stunticons for whatever reason would pay the price. And Motormaster knew no other currency than inflicting pain, the direct antecedent of respect.

But as his steps echoed through the corridor, he was certain that he wouldn't be able to inflict a frag if he wasn't even able to respect himself. He had failed the most important mission of his life. He had allowed the loss of a teammate and practically disintegrated the Stunticon Gestalt, one of the most solid pillars on which the Decepticon Empire sustained its power.

It was a good day to be dead. Motormaster immediately pushed the pessimistic thought to the bottom of his helmet; that kind of pathetic attitude worked for Dead End, but not for him. He was the leader of the Stunticons, the head and frame of Menasor, and Megatron's most loyal soldier. He was expected to remain standing when everybody else was down. He couldn't afford to fail twice.

He pulled himself together when he arrived to Megatron's private chambers. At that point, the last thing he cared about was if he was going to be beaten, taken apart or spark ripped. All he knew was that he would face whatever the consequences of his mistakes. As leader of the Stunticons, anything that went wrong in his team was his responsibility, and even though he always made sure to punish his subordinates' flaws, he always took the blame with Megatron. He was the head of the team and he had to respond to their failures. It couldn't have been any other way. Although, in that moment, he knew that the big failure was his doing and his alone.

* * *

If anything, it was a waste of time. Not that it did matter, because at the end whatever happened would lead to the same outcome, but still, it _was_ a waste of time. And illogical too, as the one receiving the punishment hadn't been directly involved in the circumstances that had led to Drag Strip's current rant.

"Your fault!" Drag Strip kept repeating as he kicked the fallen Autobot's frame. "This is all your fault, you pit-spawned, screwhead Autofilth!"

Dead End exchanged a quick look with Breakdown, who had on his better I-don't-have-any-idea-of-what's-going-on face. Both Stunticons didn't need words to know what they had to do; protection of your own teammates was, in the end, an instinctive directive in their Gestalt programming. Practically at the same time they stepped forward and took a firm grip of Drag Strip's arms, dragging him backwards.

"Let slaggin' go of me!" Drag Strip cried, attempting to kick once again the fallen Aerialbot.

"Untie me and try that again, Deceptiscum, I dare you!" Air Raid replied, struggling with his stasis cuffs and equaling Drag Strip's fury with his own. "See if you have the bearings, you cowardly piece of slag!"

"Who are you calling a coward—"

"You two may consider stopping this useless exhibition," Dead End said boringly, wondering for a moment if joining Drag Strip in bashing the uncomfortable, yet innocent part of the Gestalt would give him some release. But then again, that would require physical effort and a motivation he was very far away from feeling.

"Whose side are you on?" Drag Strip brusquely retorted. "Didn't you see what happened? Slag!"

"And what…" Breakdown's voice sounded more fearful than ever as he relaxed his grip on his teammate's arm, "what exactly happened?"

Drag Strip turned to him. "Oh, you haven't heard the good news, that's right… We're bonded to this Aerialscum for good now… like for life! Wildrider's gone!"

Breakdown's optics expanded in astonishment and, as always, looked for any kind of salvation in Dead End.

"He's… dead?" Breakdown stammered.

For a moment, Dead End was tempted to say yes. Wildrider was completely absent from the Gestalt bond now, as if he had never been part of it. The Stunticons had no experience regarding deceased teammates, but it had to feel the same way, it had to feel just as painful.

"Bonded with the Aerialbots, irreversibly I'm afraid," he finally said.

"What do you mean irreversibeley?"

For once, Dead End didn't care about correcting Breakdown's mispronounced word. Besides, it was Drag Strip who replied back.

"Means that he slaggin' merged with the Aerialscums and he didn't give a frag! We were there and he didn't give a frag!"

Drag Strip was altered for sure, but it was the lost look on Air Raid's face that caught Dead End's attention. He had been so absorbed in the recently acquired feeling of betrayal that he had forgotten that it also affected the _fifth _member of his team… considering him as something other than such was not an option anymore. There it was, the practical proof that the Stunticons had been doomed since the very moment of their creation.

"That can't be…" Air Raid said as if he were talking to himself. "You're lying!"

Drag Strip returned his attention to Air Raid. "Why would I lie about something like this, frag face? Do you think I like having you as my teammate?" Drag Strip was trembling due to the combined attack of rancor and despair, but he didn't seem to be eager to continue discharging his frustration by pounding Air Raid. Like Wildrider, his manifestations of fury didn't last long, although, unlike the lost teammate, Drag Strip was very good at holding grudges.

And so was the former Aerialbot, it seemed… "I am _no _teammate of any of you freaks, got it? I'll never be! Stick that well into your glitched, lunatic processors!"

The double doors opened, not by an electronic command, but by the raw action of two arms taking them off of their rails. Motormaster, a collection of dents, sparking circuits and Energon stains spread all over his frame, stood beneath the threshold without any expression on his face.

Dead End had always known that doom would come. Its shape, however, had been an enigma… until now. Doom had officially arrived, and it would drag them all down.

The Stunticons knew their brutal leader very well, just as they knew that sometimes it was impossible to predict his immediate actions. It had been so frustrating up until that point that it would have been impossible to know if Motormaster would beat the Autobot until termination, or if he would apply the same punishment to the rest of the Stunticons.

Of course, that was nothing that worried Dead End. He was certain of two things: that he would die sooner rather than later, and that Motormaster would beat him until the day he ceased to function – and probably would be the cause of his demise as well. Curiously, he was not particularly afraid of any of those big truths, maybe that was the reason why his attention was more focused on his leader's current bad shape. How Motormaster could remain standing after being literally crushed by Superion was one mystery to which Dead End would find no answer, not even within the Gestalt bond. Add that Megatron had probably punished him somehow, and there it was, one Stunticon who insisted on struggling with a fatal fate that had marked his entire team since it had been built.

But maybe Megatron had spared Motormaster from any additional punishment, because he was not only able to stand but to walk, and firmly, as he proved when he headed towards the bottom of Wildrider's room. All the optics were fixated on him, four vocalizers didn't dare to make a sound.

So Motormaster wouldn't deliver random, devastating damage … yet. Now Dead End's curiosity was genuinely piqued, as his arms unfolding showed. It was only when Motormaster pushed a button on the console of Wildrider's computer that Dead End remembered that tragedy had hit the Stunticons precisely on the first Thursday of the month.

A holographic map was displayed, leaving the surprise element only for the winged Stunticon, who seemed more out of place than ever.

"Drag Strip!" Motormaster ordered with a roar. "Pick!"

Drag Strip remained paralyzed. He knew what he had to do but he couldn't understand why. Dead End had to agree with him. Really, under the current circumstances, who would have thought about _that?_

But it was the first Thursday of the month. And it was, indeed, Drag Strip's turn to pick.

The map remained floating in the middle of the room, blinking in expectation. Against all prognostics, it was Breakdown who dared to take a step forward. He was no coward, Dead End thought, unlike Breakdown himself always said.

"But… after what happened today… are we still going to…?"

_Yes, we are, _Dead End thought.

Motormaster glared at Breakdown, but the anticipated punishment didn't come. Instead, Motormaster turned to Drag Strip again.

"PICK!"

Drag Strip blinked, putting himself together and returning from the same bizarre stasis that had possessed all the Stunticons but their leader. He offlined his optical visor and lifted an arm, a small laser red dot coming from his finger and pointing toward a random spot on the map. The coordinates that appeared over the map were immediately recorded by the Stunticons, including their newest addition.

Motormaster nodded and made the map disappear.

"What's going on?" Air Raid asked Dead End, considering perhaps that he was the best option to provide logical answers instead of physical damage.

But Dead End didn't have time to reply. Motormaster turned around so fast that Air Raid barely had time to realize that his new leader was already towering him.

Air Raid didn't cringe, though, cowardice definitely not being a particularity on his spark. "What was that map for?" he asked.

Motormaster reached out and seized him by the neck, making him leave the false safety of the floor. "We are going out and you're coming with us."

Air Raid struggled and kicked Motormaster on the thigh, but it was as if he had not touched him at all.

"When we return, you will declare your undying loyalty to Lord Megatron," Motormaster said as he calmly ran his fingers over the Autobot's back.

Air Raid's only functional optic widened in surprise. "WHAT? Slag no! That will never happen! NEVER! You better destroy me now or so help me I—"

Air Raid couldn't finish his last attempt at defending an identity that was no longer his. His cry of pain pierced the audios of his teammates, but somehow all of them knew that pain hadn't been the only reason. His frustration was beyond physical suffering, his vocalizer only expressing the impotence of watching everything he had owned vaporizing before his bare and only eye.

"You won't need this where we're going," Motormaster said, twisting and snatching the wiring of Air Raid's flight computer from his back.

When he released his victim, Air Raid fell flat on the floor, his body shivering after having been stripped of the one remaining thing that associated him with the Aerialbot he had been. His wings were still there, but with his flight computer damaged, they were completely useless.

Motormaster threw the cables aside and walked out of the room. Drag Strip followed him, casting one last glance to the fallen teammate. This time, however, rancor was an absent. There was no doubt that the constant beatings that the Stunticons received from their leader was an important bond between them, and a quick way to show them how equal they were beneath their Commander's fist. Perhaps, through pain, Air Raid would also find his place within the team.

Dead End could feel Breakdown's gaze over him, so he turned to his teammate and gave him the simple nod of approval that Breakdown was requesting. After that, they both reached out and grabbed the former Aerialbot by the arms, helping him to stand up. It seemed that that simple action was going to become a constant in their lives.

* * *

The gust of fresh air over his face plates was the first thing that Air Raid could associate with peace since he had been taken to the Nemesis. But as he left that same place behind, he realized that peace was only that, a mirage that would vanish without leaving him anything other than a memory. Just like the wind caressing his frame, its touch so gentle compared to the two arms that held him tightly.

Breakdown at his right side, Dead End at his left… flying at the rear of an aerial formation which couldn't have been described with any word other than broken. Motormaster and Drag Strip were flying ahead, so separated that Air Raid could barely see the yellow shine of Drag Strip's armour. The Stunticons had no idea of what an aerial formation was; they were ground-pounders, after all, and Air Raid knew from experience that the only ones who could understand the skies were the ones who had wings. Anti-gravitational systems were nothing but a pitiful way to put ground robots in an element that was not theirs. Just because of that simple fact, it was impossible for him to become something other than an Aerialbot. Logic just couldn't be such a fragged up slagger…

If only he had been able to fly… if only his flight computer wasn't a mess of torn and twisted cables at his back and he hadn't had to stand the humiliation of being carried by two former enemies-now teammates…

"Where are we going?" he asked when he couldn't stand neither the silence nor the curiosity. By then, he had understood that those two Stunticons were the next best thing he would find concerning reliable sources of information. As glitched and dysfunctional as they were, at least they were not the kind of psychos that would beat the slag of him just because they could.

"First Thursday of the month," Dead End said absently.

That didn't explain much, but at least Air Raid knew that he was not the main reason why the Stunticons were abandoning the base. Perhaps he wasn't going to be terminated as he had began to fear, although after hearing what the Stunticons had said about Wildrider and the Aerialbots, a part of Air Raid wouldn't have rejected permanent shutdown.

"Demolition Derby," Breakdown said when he realized that Dead End wouldn't continue explaining. "We have one every first Thursday of the month."

Air Raid turned to look at Breakdown. "What the slag is a Demolition Derby?"

"Oh, we just… pick some place on the map, and then we go and crash cars," Breakdown said, averting his glaze.

"But you do that all the fraggin' time."

"Well yeah, but the Demolition Derby is different. It's the only time during which Motormaster spends time with us… out of missions, you know. We have done it since we were created. It's like a translation."

"Tradition," Dead End corrected.

Air Raid looked to his left, but Dead End ignored him. "You don't expect me to take part in this Demolition Slag of yours."

"Tell that to Motormaster," Breakdown said. "If he says you're in, you're in. But you don't have a force field, and you still need to be repaired…"

"In other words, you will die," Dead End told him bluntly.

* * *

One hour later, the Stunticons landed in a parking lot located somewhere in the terrestrial sector known as Canada. Air Raid didn't know much about the place; he had never cared too much for Earth, its geographical divisions or its inhabitants, after all. All he knew was that it was such a waste of fuel and time to fly all the way there only to crash into lifeless vehicles. Not that Air Raid justified that kind of destructive behavior, but the Stunticons could have done it somewhere closer. But then again, the selection process seemed to be part of the game, and Air Raid had to admit that there was some sort of excitement in leaving things at random.

Humans started to run as soon as metal feet touched ground, but Air Raid didn't give them too much attention. He had never liked those small flesh creatures. He knew he had to protect them because Optimus Prime insisted that they were innocent of the Cybertronian war and blah blah blah, but Air Raid preferred to keep his distance and concentrate on bringing down Decepticon Seekers.

Tension stretched as the humans kept fleeing the parking lot. As much as the Stunticons seemed to be very used to their destructive little hobby, not one of them seemed eager to take the initiative. Breakdown and Dead End stared at each other as they kept holding Air Raid's arms, whilst Drag Strip looked like an aloof child who couldn't care less for the toys scattered around him. Only Motormaster seemed to be in one piece, despite his battered state. It was only then when Air Raid wondered why the heck his supposed leader was so badly slagged. Some traces of white paint on Motormaster's armour suggested Superion's work.

What now? Perhaps Motormaster would order one of his teammates to start, but Air Raid guessed that he wouldn't order anything he wouldn't do himself. As much as he hated that big brute, Air Raid was starting to understand him.

And his guess was right, as Motormaster proved when he transformed into his alt mode and rammed the closest car to his location, embedding it into the wall and knocking over a trailer that had had the disgrace of being close.

That must have detonated some kind of trigger in Drag Strip, because his optical visor blinked – although to say it short circuited would have been a better description – and followed his leader in his insane diversion. He transformed and ran into half a dozen cars parked at the bottom of the lot in a single line. For a guy who loved his finish so much and whose alt mode was a sleek racing car, it was disturbing to see him charge and crash at two hundred miles per hour, no matter if had one hell of a force field.

Marred metal collapsed against the wall, bringing it down in the process. If there were humans close, they certainly hadn't survived that kind of impact. But once again, Air Rid didn't care much about probable human casualties.

It was painful, the mechanics of the Gestalt messing big time with his head. It was as if he had a gun pointed towards his head and there was a voice inside of him ordering him to laugh. There had been so much anger and rancor displayed in Drag Strip's stunt, so different from all the insane acrobatics the Stunticons used to do every time Air Raid had fought them. Back then, senseless destruction was something they highly enjoyed, but right now it only seemed to hurt them. They had their own grief to deal with, and they certainly didn't have any other way to find relief.

So they kept going. Both Motormaster and Drag Strip pummeled lifeless cars the same way they would have done with enemies, piling them up at the entrance of the parking lot. Air Raid felt the need to stop that mayhem, but not because it was what any Autobot would have done, but because he couldn't stand the suffering inside the Gestalt… _his _Gestalt.

He narrowed his optic and turned his head aside, not able to keep watching the nightmare. He would have preferred it if Motormaster had just beaten him. After all, it seemed that it was going to be a very frequent event in his life from that day on.

As if he could know what he was thinking, Motormaster suddenly addressed him, but he used words instead of fists.

"Your turn," he said, transforming to his bipedal mode and glaring at him.

Breakdown and Dead End pushed him forward. Air Raid thought he would fall to his knees, but he didn't. During the past few hours, his self-repair systems had been performing their slow but effective job. It was more than that, a familiar warmth on his back announced that his flight computer was also being brought back on line of by what was, in his opinion, the best component of his robotic body – besides his wings, of course.

But flying was something that he still couldn't do, so he chose the next best thing: gaining time.

"Yeah right," he scowled. "Do you expect me to ram some human junk? Not a chance! First, I don't have a force field like you glitches, and second, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a car!"

"But you have wheels," Breakdown suggested, "although they're kind of small."

Air Raid rolled his only optic. "Duh! Have you heard about a little something called landing gear? It's not like I can win a race with it."

"You couldn't win against me," Drag Strip said.

Motormaster reached out and closed a claw-like grip on Air Raid's wing, forcing him to lean forward. "YOUR TURN!" he bellowed.

Air Raid managed to maintain his balance when Motormaster pushed him forward. He did another quick scan of his flight computer. _Almost there, almost there… _Just a little bit more and he would be able to fly again, not at his regular speed due to the lack of the circuitry a certain brute had snatched from his back, but it would have to do. He just needed a little bit more time.

He carefully subspaced his gun, which surprisingly hadn't been taken away from him. But his slow movement had been completely useless; if his forced teammates hadn't been worried about his weapons before, they certainly were not now, as none of them made any move that hinted they were expecting some sort of attack on his account. Damn Gestalt bond…

"Okay," he said, pointing his gun towards the pile of at least twenty cars that Drag Strip and Motormaster had put together. "I can't exactly crash cars because of the reasons I already pointed, but what about this?"

He fired, making the car on the top explode. It was a red SUV that reminded him of Ironhide; Air Raid couldn't help feeling satisfied.

He looked to his teammates with a questioning look. When he saw that their facial expressions hadn't changed a bit, he grabbed a partially crashed sports car and lifted it above his head "O-kay, so you didn't like that… then what about _this?"_

Air Raid took a very short moment to make sure that there were no humans close by before throwing the car with all his strength against the cabin of the parking lot, bringing it down. Smoke and debris rose up, reaching his olfactory sensors with the subtle touch of temptation. He had never been fond of meaningless destruction, but suddenly he felt something related to a purpose for the first time since the nightmare had started. It was more than that; if he had been insane, perhaps he would have admitted that something suspiciously similar to joy had just punched him. Without waiting for any approval, he took a run toward one still intact line of parked line of cars and kicked one so hard that he made it fly. A feeling of satisfaction filled him when the car landed on the top of the big pile of marred cars without making it fall.

He was feeling proud of himself before he even realized why.

He instinctively looked at Motormaster. There was a faint smirk on the Stunticon leader's face and for a moment, only for a moment, Air Raid didn't hate him.

"Aaaw, already tightening the Gestalt bonds… How touching," a screechy voice said from upwards, ending the bizarre communion that had just happened between Air Raid and Motormaster.

Flanked by Skywarp and Thundercracker, Starscream floated in bipedal mode, arms folded across his chest and his characteristic sneer spread over his face.

"Hey!" Breakdown said. "What are you doing here?"

Breakdown cowered when Starscream fixated his intense stare on him, making Air Raid hate the Decepticon Air Commander more than he normally hated him.

The trine of Seekers landed as if they owned the place. "Demolition Derby _again?" _Starscream said with contempt. "This is getting old very soon, Motormaster. Why don't you and your team of failures play somewhere else? This kind of behavior is a shame on the Decepticon cause!"

Skywarp laughed. "Maybe they need a diaper change first, I think Breakdown already lubricated his. Hey TC, care to give it a try?" he said, elbowing Thundercracker on the chest, but the blue Seeker remained as serious as he always was. Although more than serious, he seemed disgusted.

Air Raid frowned, the increasing feeling of anger starting to boil in his fuel lines. As an Aerialbot, he too had been the target of sneaky remarks about his youth from his fellow Autobots, but comparing the Stunticons with small children that needed diapers just seemed to much… somehow accurate, but too much.

"Fly back to the pit you came from," Motormaster said curtly. "Flying slags are not welcome here."

Starscream sighed. "Ah, what an ugly thing to say to a fellow Decepticon… who happens to be your superior officer as well. As for your lastcomment, well, I would say you are not being very coherent here, considering the fact that one of your… erm, _teammates _could be considered a flier… even though his flight experience and skills are rather ridiculous."

Air Raid stepped forward, but he didn't have the time to defend himself.

"Frag off," Motormaster spat, not paying any attention to his, indeed, winged teammate. "Or I'll frag you instead."

"Tempting, tempting," Starscream said, rubbing his chin. "But you're not exactly my type, Motormaster. You are too… how can I say it? Ugly. Ah, I'd say we have a problem here. You see, normally I would wouldn't give a slag for anything you Stunticons are up to, but the inclusion of a certain Autobot in your activities, not to mention your team, has caught my attention, a certain Autobot that _we _happen to dislike in particular."

Motormaster materialized his sword so fast that nobody had time to react. Nobody, except his target. Starscream could be as fast on the ground as he was in the air, and that was the only reason why the sword didn't pierce his chest.

"You fool! You just signed your termination sentence!" Starscream cried before turning to his right. "Thundercracker!"

The blue Seeker remounted to the skies and transformed to his alt mode, releasing a sonic boom that Air Raid was sure had shaken the entire city.

"Stunticons, take them down!" he heard Motormaster roaring between the confusion. With his audio receptors still aching, Air Raid looked around, not sure about what to do.

Motormaster charged directly at Starscream, picking not only the leader of that trine but what he considered the most dangerous rival. Breakdown and Dead End teamed up against Thundercracker, shooting their weapons towards the Seeker in an attempt to stop him from releasing another sonic boom. Drag Strip, who had retreated and was pointing his weapon toward no place in particular, was suddenly surprised by Skywarp, who materialized right behind him, embraced him by the chest and disappeared again.

Air Raid made good use of the confusion to get down and roll behind the trailer that Motormaster had knocked over at the beginning. He tried to fight back the unnerving preoccupation he was feeling about Drag Strip. He knew that Skywarp liked to teleport his victims to some very high spot in the sky and drop them, cackling all the way as they crashed to pieces on the ground. Drag Strip could fly, of course, but it would be relatively easy to damage his anti-gravitational system… No, he had to eradicate those thoughts. That was a fight between Decepticons, and not even the 'Cons killed their own kind… or did they?

"Ah, scrap! What do I care about that Stunticon slag anyway?"

Metallic sounds close to his location reminded him that there was a fight in progress in which he was expected to play a role. He was used to fight Seekers, but his mind was too conflicted to even get close to making a decision. Okay, so battling Seekers was what he did, for both duty and enjoyment purposes, but engaging any of them in that moment would mean that he was actually on the Stunticons' side… as one of them.

He shook his head furiously. If he fought, he was slagged. If he not, he was slagged all the same. Why did the pit-fragged Seekers have to come and ruin everything, right when he was starting to enjoy the Demolition Derby…?

Shaking his head wouldn't do it this time, so he punched himself in the face as strong as he could, pain reminding him that, in the end, he was the owner of his damn life. Above the Gestalt bond, he was Air Raid, and he would do whatever the frag he wanted.

A familiar hum on his back fueled his rebellious attitude. His flight computer was online again, putting the skies, and thus freedom, at his reach.

He stood up, his wings extending with hunger, at the right moment in which Starscream impacted Motormaster with a null ray. Air Raid had very contradictory feelings about his supposed leader; he had inflicted more pain to him than anyone else in the three terrestrial years than Air Raid had been online, but he also had protected him from the other Decepticons, and possibly saved his life… But it wasn't that that tortured Air Raid's processor at that moment. Starscream, or anybody else, hurting Motormaster… it just didn't feel right. It was as simple as that.

So he fired his gun again, impacting the Air Commander on the shoulder even before realizing what he was doing.

Motormaster, who was on one knee and still being shaken by the effects of Starscream's favorite weapon, turned to stare at him.

"I…" Air Raid said, lowering his gun. "I guess I'm leaving now."

Those had to be the most stupid words he had ever said, but at that moment he couldn't have articulated anything else. He activated his thrusters and in a second he was already away from the ground, transforming awkwardly to his alt mode. His body wasn't in the best shape for the process, of course, but he didn't care, he didn't even feel the pain.

All that Air Raid tried to think was that he was free, and that he was on his way home.

Nevertheless, he didn't feel happy at all.

_To be continued._

* * *

_The Demolition Derby was not my idea, but actually a canon event. When Soundwave summoned the Stunticons to join Megatron's forces against Starscream and the Combaticons in the episode 'Starscream's brigade', Drag Strip said that they were busy having a demolition derby. I loved that scene, especially because he, Breakdown and Motormaster really seemed to be enjoying their destructive hobby. _

_Next chapter is almost done, so it should be posted soon. Many thanks for your reviews :o)  
_


	16. See you later, slow punk

_As you noticed, I like to play with time in my stories every now and then. This update starts a little bit before the ending of last chapter, but just a couple of minutes, nothing to worry about. You will understand why as you start reading._

_Many thanks to iratepirate for beta reading. Ah, those 'in' and 'on'… what a pain they are!_

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**See you later, slow punk**

Dead End had found out a long time ago that his best – if not his only - motivation to engage in a fight was being attacked. Violence was one of the many things he usually didn't care about, but when being the target of the weapon of an enemy, he had no problems in answering fire with fire.

The problem, if he could call it that, was that his current enemy wasn't an Autobot, but a fellow Decepticon, and a Seeker from the Elite Trine to make matters worse. Despite what Motormaster said, Seekers were the most valuable component of the Decepticon Army, and killing one of them was the fastest way to get on Megatron's bad side. Destroying or seriously harming Thundercracker definitely wouldn't be good for Dead End's life expectancy – not that he cared much, but if he could live another day to polish his finish, he would take it – so he decided to keep a defensive stance, shoot without being particularly careful about his aim, and wait for the Seeker to make the first, deadly move.

Breakdown didn't seem to agree with this train of thought, though, as he proved when he transformed to his alt mode and charged against Thundercracker as soon as he landed with his cannons already pointed towards the two Stunticons. The Seeker agilely avoided being run over, which resulted in a very nervous Breakdown crashing into a concrete wall at almost two hundred miles per hour. The impact was so strong that Breakdown broke the wall and landed on the street outside, several meters ahead.

Thundercracker then returned his attention to Dead End and shot a laser beam that hit a point at least two mechano meters from the Stunticon's helm.

Dead End, with his gun in hand, looked questioningly at his rival. Could it be that Thundercracker didn't care about his aim either? He had always known that that Seeker wasn't very fond of violence, although the rest of the Decepticons said that his hesitation had to do with doubts about the cause rather than pure slackness.

"Did you, um, just miss on purpose?" Dead End asked him, just to be sure.

As a response, Thundercracker only put his index finger on his lips, shushing him, as he released another failed shot.

* * *

First thing that Drag Strip felt was that he really, _really, _needed to purge his fuel tanks. Being used to his anti-gravitational system, he wasn't afraid of heights, but he was definitely not used to being removed so brusquely from his personal space – not to mention from the ground – taken to hell, shaken from bolts to struts, and finally being returned to the sky in the middle of nowhere. All his systems were overloaded, his anti-grav included, although not in the enjoyable way. So flying by himself was out the question… and the ground below seemed very, very far away.

"Don't drop me!" he hurried to say, feeling Skywarp's arms tightened around him. He wasn't actually thinking about the high chances of death if he fell from that height, even with his force field. He was more concerned about his finish, which definitely wouldn't take massive damage lightly.

"And why not?" Skywarp sneered viciously, leaning forward and pressing his cockpit against Drag Strip's back.

"We… we are on the same side!" Drag Strip cried. He knew perfectly well that Skywarp was famous for playing sadistic pranks on both enemies and allies alike. If at least Drag Strip had been a teleporter as well…

"Hardly," Skywarp spat. "I have wings, you have wheels… Which side would that be? But who knows? I may be in a generous mood. Say, what will you give me in return if I spare you?"

"I… I… I'll let you frag me!"

Skywarp burst into laughter. "I don't do ground-pounders. Come on Stripper, you can do better than that."

Drag Strip didn't like to be called that, but he was in no position to protest. "I… uh… I'll give you my wax reserves, and my oil additives… and my Energon rations for the whole week."

He could tell that Skywarp was shaking his head. "Mm… not enough."

Drag Strip gasped when the arms around his chest suddenly loosened their pressure. "No, wait! I'll do whatever you want!"

Skywarp tightened his embrace again, firmly trapping Drag Strip's arms. "Whatever, huh? Okay, what about this? You'll give me your Energon rations for the entire month… _and _you'll also be my slave."

"S…lave?"

"Yeah. If I need to refuel, you'll bring an Energon cube to my lips. If there's something filthy in my way, you'll lie down and become my carpet. If some nasty human gets stuck between my joints, you'll clean it off. If I have the need to shoot something, you'll be the target… and so on, you know, the usual stuff."

Drag Strip wasn't very sure about that, but when Skywarp's arms started to let go again, he quickly made up his mind.

"Okay, okay! I'll do it, okay? Just don't drop me!"

Skywarp burst into laughter again. "Whatever you say, Stripper. Anything for my slave, you know?"

Drag Strip was sure that Motormaster wouldn't like that a Stunticon had just become the slave of a Seeker, but his finish would always be his priority, and he would do whatever he could in order to keep it unmarred and shinny.

He wondered how the battle below was progressing, but he and Skywarp were so high that he could barely see some lights below, probably explosions.

"What's goin—"

"Sssh!" Skywarp shut him up. "He should be coming anytime soon…"

Drag Strip would have frowned, if he had had the components to do it, but his visor only blanked in confusion. "Coming? Who?"

Skywarp leaned on his shoulder and looked downwards. "There! We're not far enough. He must not see us."

Another purple flash of light, and another trip to hell. Correction, Drag Strip definitely did _not _want to be a teleporter, if teleporting involved getting sucked into that dizzying nightmare every time. When his body materialized again, he was sure it was in pieces.

"S-stop doing that!" he complained. He would have preferred to turn around and hold Skywarp by the neck; that would have made him feel safer. Besides, the sight of the attractive facial features of the Seeker would have been better than the abyss beneath.

"There he goes… and he didn't see us. Perfect," Skywarp said, sounding like he was talking to himself.

Despite the fear of being dropped, Drag Strip was beginning to lose his patience. "Who?"

Skywarp pointed towards a small light in the distance, almost dropping Drag Strip with the movement. "Your Autobot buddy. See? He's on his way to the Ark, as Megatron said he would. So much for loyalty for the team, huh? Say bye bye, Stripper."

"Arrr Raid?" Drag Strip muttered the nickname he had given to the former Aerialbot, not even noticing how close he was to falling to his death. "Gone?"

Skywarp tightened his grip on him again. "Yeah, which means you and I are done playing. Remember, Stripper: starting tomorrow you're my slave!"

And hell came back.

* * *

"He's gone," Starscream spoke, or at least he tried to, considering he had five brutal fingers crushing his neck. "The Aerialbot's gone!" he repeated, increasing his voice to his normal screech this time. "You can let go now!"

Motormaster did so, although he only released his prey after crashing his head against the broken pavement beneath.

Starscream hurried to kneel and spat out some small pieces of concrete that had managed to enter his mouth. "What the slag do you think you're doing? Megatron told us to _fake_ a fight! Do you even understand the meaning of the word?"

Motormaster towered his fallen rival, despite the fact that some of his circuits were still affected by the temporary paralysis that Starscream's null ray had caused. "You're still functioning. What does that tell you?"

"What matters is that the Aerialbot is gone. We can quit the circus now," Thundercracker spat, looking disgusted by the trick he had been part of. That was nothing strange; he was always disgusted about something.

Skywarp materialized amongst his usual purple midst, holding on to a very confused Drag Strip. "Here you go, big guy. Intact as promised," he said to Motormaster, shoving Drag Strip roughly towards him. "We told you none of your boys would get hurt, didn't we?"

Motormaster only growled in response and pushed Drag Strip away, making him fall on his aft on the ground.

"Ah, good 'ole Gestalt love," Skywarp sneered. "What would the Universe do without it?"

"Be a better Universe, that's for sure…" Starscream said through gritted dental plates, rubbing his right shoulder, which was still smoking after having been shot by Air Raid. "All right, we're done wasting our time here." He turned to glare at Motormaster again. "Next time, tell Megatron to take care of his dirty job himself! I'm tired of always ending with the losing hand in all his stupid plans, especially when they involve helping you and your team of lunatics!"

Before Motormaster had the time to answer in his rough, physical language, one of the few walls of the parking lot that were still standing exploded into pieces, pierced by a white and blue torpedo which hit Thundercracker and practically buried him.

Skywarp burst into laughter and kicked the rampaging Lamborghini from his wingmate's back. "Wheels off, Breakage! Didn't you hear? Battle's over! Hey, is that a camera behind you?"

"My name is not Breakage—", Breakdown started to say, transforming to his bipedal mode and suddenly turning around so fast that his neck creaked. There was no camera behind him, only debris. "What… what's going on?" he said, turning to stare at Dead End, who was standing close to him with his arms crossed.

"The fight was a farce, a farce that three of us didn't know a thing about, by the way."

His last remark was directed towards Motormaster, but that was as far Dead End was going to go concerning reproaching his leader, especially in public.

"What do you mean a farce?" Drag Strip said, getting on his feet and turning confusion into fury. "I almost died up there and you say it was a farce? And I don't know if any of you noticed, but the Aerialslag kinda took off! Who was the slagger who had the brilliant idea—?"

Motormaster slapped Drag Strip on the face, sending him to his knees again. "Your whining stops now! This was an order from Lord Megatron and that's all you need to know!"

"B-b-but… Arrr Raid is going away..." Drag Strip stammered, turning to stare at Starscream. "They could still get him… they are Seekers… we still have time to reco—"

"What part of 'Megatron's plan' didn't you understand, you fool?" Starscream snapped, his patience worn-out. "This was a stage! Megatron wanted the Autobot to escape, for some stupid reason that only he understands!"

Motormaster contained himself from striking Drag Strip again, but only because he preferred to discipline his teammates without foreign witnesses. "You played your role, Starscream. Take your flying slags with you and get the frag out of here!"

Motormaster was clearly in a bad mood, or at least that's what his voice indicated, booming with an intensity that could have challenged thunder. Starscream flinched slightly, but tried to disguise his movement by activating his thrusters and leaving the hated ground.

"Whatever. I have better things to do than helping your maniacal team anyway," he said once he was at a safe distance from Motormaster, signaling his wingmates to follow him.

"Remember, Stripper. Starting tomorrow!" Skywarp said as he took off in bipedal mode, assisting a shaken Thundercracker who, for once, seemed interested in engaging in violent actions if Breakdown was the receiving party.

* * *

_Nemesis, Megatron's private chambers, three hours ago._

It seemed that eons had passed since the days in which Megatron had conceived the idea of the perfect Decepticon. Time and reality, though, had made him realize how naïve he had been by thinking such a thing could ever exist, but every time he saw Motormaster he was reminded that there were always exceptions to the rule.

Despite his youth and inexperience, the Stunticon leader could perfectly exemplify what the ideal Decepticon should be. Loyal, powerful, intelligent and merciless; the kind that had been created to dominate, not to be dominated, and yet the kind that knew to respect hierarchies.

"Lord Megatron…" he started.

There was a heavy burden over Motormaster's shoulders. Invisible and untouchable, but it was there, threatening to make him collapse instead of the countless wounds scattered over his body. Megatron was very used to purple over gray; he had seen it on his own frame more times than the vorns he had lived. Energon had stained him as a miner, violet gold that hadn't been his. And later as a gladiator and leader of a rebellion, he had known it in the shape of pain, even though he couldn't recall telling the difference between his blood and the one of the enemy staining his frame. They were both purple.

And more purple was something that Motormaster definitely didn't need; he was so damaged that it was a surprise he remained standing. When he fell to one knee, Megatron knew that he hadn't been guided by pain, but by loyalty. Failure and shame would always be his heaviest burden.

Megatron didn't give him time to speak whatever his guilt was telling him to spill through a vocalizer that didn't know how to apologize. Megatron couldn't have told if the view was more disturbing than it was pathetic.

"Stand up," he ordered him coldly. "Decepticons never kneel."

Motormaster obeyed immediately, but his optics remained reluctant to meet the ones of his leader. Megatron waited, in a way feeling disgusted by the ridiculously sublime admittance of a defeat that was foretold.

"I have lost Wildrider and corrupted the integrity of the Stunticon Gestalt," Motormaster said, finally daring to raise his glance. He compensated with courage what he lacked in maturity. Motormaster had never been one to cower after defeat.

Granted. If it had been any other Decepticon standing before him, Megatron would have made sure to remind him that mistakes came with a price. But ever since the head of the Stunticons had said his first words, Megatron had understood that fear was nothing he had to embed into that processor, not where respect and loyalty existed so passionately. He had never beaten Motormaster, and that wouldn't be the first time.

"Wildrider has been replaced and the Stunticon Gestalt remains," Megatron sentenced. "That's all that matters. Make sure to understand it because I won't tolerate any more hesitation on your part."

Motormaster looked at Megatron almost pleadingly, confusion denting his face just as his wounds did with his body.

"You requested one chance and I granted it to you, Motormaster. That's all you are going to get from me. From now on, I'll take matters into my own hands."

Megatron could tell that Motormaster was not pleased by that decision, but he was not going to question it. Once again, the Stunticon behaved as Megatron expected from a perfect Decepticon.

Megatron activated a holographic image over a circular console and signaled Motormaster to approach.

"Are you familiarized with this?" Megatron asked, pointing toward the rotating hologram.

Motormaster studied it for a moment before frowning. "No."

"Download it into your data banks immediately. This is a flight computer. All flying units have one. Seekers, space cruisers, battleships… Aerialbots too."

Motormaster shot Megatron a questioning look.

"You are going to temporally disable the Aerialbot's flying abilities by tearing off the secondary circuits of his flight computer," Megatron continued, lighting a series of cables on the hologram. "Make sure to not touch the primary circuitry or his self-repair system won't be able to compensate the damage."

Motormaster looked more lost than ever. "I'm afraid I'm not following…"

Megatron spared him from additional self-embarrassing moments with a blunt movement of his arm. "We are Decepticons, Motormaster. We don't grieve after a defeat; we learn," he said, making the hologram disappear. "The chances of restoring your team were minimal, and yet you did everything you could to achieve that. Don't think that I underestimate your efforts, but it's time for you to accept the fact that you ran out of resources. The Stunticons Gestalt has changed and you must accept it. You lost a teammate, but you acquired a new one. Menasor is complete and functional. Purity is meaningless when there are more important things to think about, such as the advantages that this apparent dysfunction could bring."

Motormaster's mouth tensed. The order was clear but he seemed reluctant to renounce the one thing that he had had his since his very first nanoklik of life. "But he's _an Aerialbot!"_

"No more, if what your Gestalt bond computes is true. Your team remains, but it has changed. The time has come to adapt to such change and turn it into our advantage. If the Autobots have assimilated Wildrider as one of their own, we will do the same with this Aerialbot. I want you to turn him into a Stunticon, Motormaster. I want him to be the perfect left leg for Menasor."

Motormaster's harsh features were normally not easy to read, but despair was more than clear in that moment. "The Gestalt bond may say he is one of us," he said after a heavy silence. "But we know he is not, and so does he. How can this… assimilation happen like this?"

"He must go through a similar process to the one Wildrider lived," Megatron said, sitting on the big chair before the circular console. "Soundwave couldn't perform a thorough analysis as he was watching your recent fight with the Aerialbots, but he saw enough as to affirm that Wildrider's merge with them has been completed. It seems that Superion has been formed at least two times now, overriding his former Gestalt directives and reformatting them. If that weren't the case, why would Wildrider refuse to merge with you? He disobeyed an order and he remained by the side of his new teammates. Whether his decision was conscious or not, it changes nothing. Wildrider is lost."

Motormaster's mouth found a way to tighten even more, turning into a line of tension. Megatron felt highly disgusted by that display of suffering, but there was nothing he could do against the tight bonds of programmed brotherhood. The link may have been broken, but the memories remained.

"The Aerialbot is our enemy," Megatron continued, not willing to give Motormaster time to sulk for his lost teammate, "but circumstances force us to acknowledge him as a Stunticon, and thus, a Decepticon. I have discussed with Soundwave and Scrapper the possibility of erasing his memory banks and reprograming him, but they tell me that the risks of turning him into a mindless drone are high. Menasor's left leg must be sentient, and must function with the rest of the Stunticons willingly. That's why I have made the decision to release him."

Grief was momentarily replaced by astonishment as Motormaster opened his tightened mouth plates and let his jaw drop. "Release him?" he repeated.

"The Autobots are one step ahead of us," Megatron said, his face hardening. "Superion was disabled without the cooperation of his components, but that situation ended today as we all know. We need Menasor functional or our disadvantage will be critical."

Motormaster nodded slowly. "I understand, Lord Megatron… Soundwave warned me against forming Menasor, but I'll do it to reinstate the Stunticon Gestalt as a complete team again."

"No!" Megatron stated bluntly. "I don't need a reluctant Gestalt, but a loyal one! If you merge into Menasor the co-functional interlock of the Gestalt will be complete indeed, but the Aerialbot will continue being an outsider, forced to cooperate with you only because his own programming gives him no other choice. I want him to make the decision by himself. I want him to return to his former teammates and see with his own eyes that he doesn't belong with them anymore. Gestalt robots can't function on their own. He will return to us once he realizes that he has no other place to go, ready to pledge me loyalty."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"Then the Autobots will fix this Gestalt malfunction for us, which will be their top priority once the Aerialbot returns to the Ark. I don't think Optimus Prime will have any use for Wildrider if his scientists manage to restore the original Aerialbot Gestalt. Either way, we win."

Megatron knew that his point had been clearly made, but there was that part of Motormaster that remained resistant. That was nothing that worried Megatron, though; he knew that the Stunticon leader himself was more than capable of overriding any remains that kept him bonded to a teammate that was no more. He had been programmed to be strong, not a sentimental weakling.

"Your orders will be carried on, Lord Megatron," he finally said. "I'll release the Aerialbot, even though he will suspect our real intentions."

Megatron smirked. "That's why we will provide him an adequate scenario for his miraculous escape. For once, time and coincidence are on our side, or isn't today the day you hold your Demolition Derby?"

Motormaster increased his frown, as he did every time he was assaulted by feelings he considered unworthy of a Decepticon of his stature. Megatron knew that Motormaster considered the Demolition Derby a childish form of useless entertainment, but he allowed it to happen because his teammates needed it, just as he needed to keep the team together beyond the borderlines of the Gestalt bond.

"Yes, it is," Motormaster answered curtly.

"Perfect. The Autobots tricked us with a masquerade once. It's time for us to return the favour. Just as they did with their fake Stunticons, we will send a fake Aerialbot into their nest, with the difference being that our Aerialbot won't be hiding behind a hologram."

And then Megatron laughed evilly.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Skywarp calling Drag Strip 'Stripper' was a little blink to the story 'Crash Course', written by QoS and anon_Decepticon, in which the Stunticons are turned into humans and Drag Strip works precisely as that, a stripper. If you haven't read that fic, please make yourself a favour and do so. It's pure gold! The nickname 'Arrr Raid' was also taken from a review by Qos and is being used with her permission._

_And, of course, the masquerade Megatron is talking about is the one of the G1 episode of that same title. _

_Update coming soon. Many thanks for your reviews :o)_


	17. Come on, we've got Stunticons to pump

_Not much to say, except that I'm in a very bad mood because I've been out of internet for many days thanks to my extremely incompetent internet company. I connected through the phone to post this, and believe me that it's taking ages to load… I didn't even remember how these annoying, ancient beeps sounded like… but one thing is for sure, this is slow!_

_Anyway, I better stop complaining. Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate for her patience and support. I wrote this chapter without the help of the online dictionary I generally use to translate words I don't know, so it was quite an achievement that I didn't get as many typos as I feared…_

_Je, I said I would stop complaining, so I will only say one more thing: ¡CHINGA TU MADRE, TELMEX!_

Ah, that felt good…

* * *

**Chapter 17**

**Come on, we've got Stunticons to pump**

"And then I grabbed him, like this," Blitzwing tightened his fingers around the imaginary head, his grip almost managing to hurt the air. "And crack! His fraggin' optics broke and suddenly my fingers were all inside his empty sockets—"

"One socket, slagger," Astrotrain interrupted. "I saw you and you just broke one of his optics."

"You were having your exhaust kicked, you didn't see frag!" Blitzwing spat. "Besides, I'm the one telling the story, okay? Okay, so I let go of his arm and threw him forward just by holding him by the fraggin' sockets. Like this!"

"Like a bowling ball?" Reflector asked, watching the brusque movement that Blitzwing made with his arm.

"A what?" Astrotrain asked.

"Bowling," the smaller robot explained, very acquainted with human activities due to his function as a spy. "It's some sort of competition—"

Blitzwing punched the table between them. "Who cares? The thing is that the Autobot rolled and rolled, just like their fraggin' motto. And suddenly his chest exploded, right in the place where I had shot him before. Frag, I was bathed in his fluids by the time his pieces stopped flying around."

Astrotrain laughed, shaking the Energon in the cube resting in his hand. He sprawled himself across the bench, his massive legs barely finding room to be accommodated. "It was a nice show, indeed. I wish Megatron would send us to Cybertron more often. There are many more Autobots to fight there than there are on this mud ball… But Blitz, I insist, you only broke one of his optics. I was like two fraggin' mechano meters beside. I saw you."

"You should have kept it," Reflector said, taking a small sip from his cube. "The remaining optic, I mean. I heard the Stunticons' Aerialbot pet was missing one and I don't think a red optic would serve—"

Blitzwing twisted his mouth in contempt. "I told you I broke the two fraggin' optics! Besides, that Aerialbot is not coming back."

The three Decepticons turned to the back of the Refueling Room, where Ramjet and Frenzy were gathered around Swindle, who was very busy typing on a data pad.

"Have you guys already placed your bets?" Reflector asked.

"Nah, what for?" Blitzwing spat. "The Aerialbot fragger won't come back, everybody knows that."

"That's what the ten cubes of Energon I bet are counting on," Astrotrain said, satisfied with himself. "Easy fuel."

Reflector took another sip from his cube and put it on the table, being careful to keep it a safe distance from Blitzwing's arm. "Not that easy, or at least that's what the Gestalts say. I heard both the Combaticons and the Constructicons waged for the return of the Autobot."

"What did you expect? Combiners are all made of the same junk. Do you actually believe some slaggin' programming will force the Aerialslag to return? I mean, the Aerialbots were created to fight the Stunticons. The fraggers can't be mixed."

"Seekers," Astrotrain said, toying with his cube. "The Aerialbots were created to fight Seekers."

"Yeah, maybe at the beginning. But later they were all over the Stunticons, like if they were making it personal. It's like I just told you, all Combiners are fragged up. Can you imagine, merging with some other bot? You never know where your servos end up, and once the merging's done, all that remains is some giant idiot that babbles better than he fights. Have you seen how slow those freaks are?"

Astrotrain burst into laughter, almost spilling his Energon. "Well, I know something! I wouldn't like my head to merge anywhere near your aft!"

Blitzwing laughed too, but that didn't stop him from punching his friend's head. For a moment it seemed that both Triple Changers would engage in some habitual skirmish, but Astrotrain didn't seem interested in spilling his Energon ration of the cycle and only pushed Blitzwing away.

"What about Wildrider?" Reflector asked carefully. "Do you think he will come back?"

Blitzwing and Astrotrain looked to the Energon dispenser, where Dead End and Drag Strip were collecting their fuel rations. The absence of Wildrider was already notorious. Silence had replaced the noisy prattle that usually revolved around the Stunticons, and the amount of racing inside the Nemesis had decreased from ten times a day to zero.

"I'd say no," Blitzwing said, pointing with his finger toward the two Stunticons the same way he would have pointed a gun. "The fraggin' psychos are history. I bet you fifty Energon cubes that Megatron really blew it up this time. If I were him, I would've torn the Aerialbot to pieces the moment he was brought here, messy and simple."

"If you want to bet, go to Swindle," Astrotrain said, finishing his energy in a single gulp. "Besides, we are not supposed to engage with that Aerialbot until the Gestalts finish adjusting or whatever, remember? After that, it's open season for the Aerialbot… and for Wildrider too."

"I'll take down Wildrider personally, I've never liked the guy… You're done with that?" Blitzwing asked, snatching the cube from Astrotrain's hand without waiting for an answer.

Reflector had to bend down to avoid being hit, the empty glass cube making a spiral above his head, crossing the entire Refueling Room and crashing right on Dead End's helm.

"Nice shot!" Astrotrain chortled, joining the general laughter that the small stunt had caused amongst the Decepticons who were refueling.

"Sorry, Dead!" Blitzwing shouted. "I meant to hit the _other_ mortician. You know, the fragger behind you that is also obsessed with death?"

Dead End made no movement, but Drag Strip looked behind his teammate, making sure there was no one else standing there, and took a decisive step towards the offenders. Dead End stopped him immediately, grabbing his arm and saying something into his audio receptors.

"Why did you do that?" Reflector said. "It's not a good idea to mess with Combiners."

Blitzwing smirked, still having a battle of gazes with Drag Strip. "Yeah, maybe, when they are together. And are they together now, scraplet? Do you see Motormaster around? I don't. I heard he's going to be in the Repair Bay for a while, and if he wants a piece of me, I'll be glad to send him back there, in two or more pieces to make it more worthwhile. Heh, maybe Scrapper could use him for one of his artistic slags, like what he did with Optimus Prime."

A little commotion could be heard close to the exit, where the Coneheads seemed to be interested in imitating Blitzwing's example. Thrust and Dirge had cornered Drag Strip and were poking him. Ramjet was trying to intimidate Dead End, who seemed more interested in removing the pieces of glass from his shoulders than in whatever the white Conehead was telling him.

"See?" Blitzwing said, looking at the scene. "I told you things were going to change around here. The Stunticons lost Wildrider, Motormaster is not around, the rest of them are sulking all the time… They're done. If they can't merge anymore, these guys are good for slag."

Somehow Dead End and Drag Strip managed to leave the Refueling Room without further trouble with the Coneheads, but they also did it empty handed. Fuel was not only the vital fluid that kept every Transformer functional, it was also a matter of social status. Having lost their Energon to the Coneheads meant much more than just some cubes gone. It was the acceptance of weakness, the beginning of a fall into disgrace that every Decepticon could smell like a shark would a dot of blood.

And, just as sharks did, not a single Decepticon was to ignore that dot of blood. "I think open season started a little earlier," Astrotrain said, exchanging a smirk of conspiracy with Blitzwing.

* * *

Silverbolt unfolded his arms as soon as he caught sight of the shadow approaching from the junction of the corridors. He had been waiting for two hours, but they felt like two vorns.

Slingshot startled somewhat when he saw his team leader. His somber face immediately exposed his shame; he had always been very bad in keeping secrets.

"What did you tell Prowl?" Silverbolt went straight to the point. There was no use in wasting time.

"How did you know I was with him?" Slingshot asked. "I didn't notice you peeking into the Gestalt bond."

"I didn't have to. I know you, Slingshot, and I think I'm beginning to know Prowl too…"

"I told you he was a manipulative bastard when I first laid optics on him, remember? Well, that's what he was doing. Offering his help… on his own terms, of course. I was going to tell you anyway, so don't blow it out your exhaust."

Slingshot hadn't finished speaking when his legs were once again in motion. It seemed that whatever he had talked about with Prowl had worn him out. Silverbolt knew just how useless it was to try and communicate with his teammate when he was in such a state, but he wasn't in a good mood either.

"Who authorized you to release Wildrider?" he asked, grabbing his teammate by the arm and forcing him to stop.

"You fraggin' did," Slingshot replied curtly. "With all your indecisions and your pathetic exhibition of chief aft-kissing. Optimus may have been very understanding with this whole mess and everything, but he's not a Combiner, he doesn't know. It was _your_ duty to do something, Silverbolt, but you didn't! So I did it myself."

Silverbolt frowned, his grip on Slingshot's arm increasing. "Do you realize what you could have done?"

"I realize what happened!" Slingshot snapped, releasing his arm brusquely. "Our Gestalt is completely functional, wasn't that what you wanted? Wasn't that what Optimus Prime told you to want? Well, here you have it! Superion merged successfully, so go and tell your Autobot masters that their flyboys are ready to do their errands just as they always—"

The metal sound reverberated very bizarrely across the walls, maybe because it was happening for the first time.

"Great," Slingshot said, wiping away the thin stream of Energon coming from his mouth with the back of his hand. "I guess I deserved that."

Silverbolt stepped back. "I… I'm sorry. I should have never resorted to that. I apologize, Slingshot. I don't know what happened to me."

"I was out of place," Slingshot continued, surprisingly calm for his temper. "Maybe you should hit me more often, 'Bolt. It would save you a lot of problems. Who knows? Have you ever thought that sometimes we are as insane as the Stunticons? Maybe there's a reason why Wildrider merged so easily with us."

Silverbolt shook his head. "No, we couldn't be more different… but still, he's one of us now, and we are part of him."

"Which makes him as happy as we are on that matter. Frag, if I didn't hate him so much, I would pity the poor slagger… If he was insane before, now I think he totally lost it. What are we supposed to do with him now?"

Silverbolt would have liked to have an answer for that, but he didn't. Once again he felt unfit to lead the Aerialbots, once again all he wanted was to become invisible and let someone else make the calls. He had managed to make good decisions during those first five years of leadership – not to mention life – , but he had never been challenged with something like the integrity of the Gestalt before… He was not ready to deal with that.

"We don't choose our brothers," he said finally, lowering his head.

There was a sad smile on Slingshot's face, accentuated by the small dent beside his mouth. "In our case, the Autobots did that for us… Except now, when I don't know what ironic forces plotted to give us this fragged up brother. I guess we'll have to keep him now, huh? He saved Skydive, after all… "

Silverbolt didn't reply. Both he and Slingshot had a name on their vocalizers, the forbidden name none of them dared to speak again, the name of the one they had abandoned.

"So you talked to Prime?" Slingshot asked, finishing the uncomfortable silence.

Silverbolt nodded. "He said he would notify us of his decision later. Then he left the base, or at least that's what I think. Ironhide said he couldn't give any further information about his whereabouts."

"He couldn't give any information to _us_, you mean," Slingshot snorted. "As always, we are excluded. We are Autobots only when they need something from us."

"We're not going to discuss that again, Slingshot…"

"Whatever. It wouldn't lead us anywhere, would it? I'm just saying that these orange walls are not so warm sometimes, you know? I can perfectly understand Wildrider for feeling that everybody hates him here. It happened to us too, remember? Okay, we were the new guys, and yeah, we considered joining the Decepticons, I admit it, but we were young, we didn't know a frag about this war. How long are the Autobots going to hold that against us?

"Not as long as you are going to hold it against them, it seems," Silverbolt said, putting a hand on his teammate's shoulder.

Slingshot shook his head slowly. "Frag, they just told us that we were supposed to be one of them, but they barely took the time to tell us why…"

"That's why we had to see things with our own eyes, and we did," Silverbolt said reassuringly, remembering the Aerialbots' trip to Cybertron's past and everything that had been revealed to them. "There are many things we still don't know about this war, but we all agreed that we are fighting on the right side. The Autobots didn't know us either, they didn't have any reason to trust us, but they are still learning, as we are. With time, I'm sure they will learn to accept Wildrider as well. After all, he's an Aerialbot know."

Slingshot lowered his head before speaking again. "Yeah, an Aerialbot who has no wings… So, this is it, 'Bolt? Are we going to leave… _things_ as they are?"

Silverbolt perfectly understood why Slingshot was avoiding his gaze, and he thanked him inwardly. Once again the forbidden, painful name taunted his vocalizer, and once again he refused to say it. Treason was a very painful thing, indeed, especially when it happened within family, but the Gestalt had spoken.

"Yes…" he heard his voice say very, very far away. "_Things_… will remain as they are. Superion has thoroughly accepted Wildrider as his left leg and… we should too. We still have to tune things up within the Gestalt but eventually—"

A buzz in his comm link came as an unexpected saviour, but Silverbolt would soon know that a saviour could turn into a condemner in the blink of an optic.

"_Silverbolt? You better come here," _Red Alert's voice sounded a little more agitated than usual.

Silverbolt was not one to treat his fellow Autobots ill-humoredly, but he was beyond fatigue and anxiety. "What?" he replied curtly.

"_That teammate of yours…"_ loud voices and some metallic sounds could be heard behind Red Alert's voice. _"He's causing a serious commotion here!"_

Oh frag, Wildrider…

"Wait!" Silverbolt hurried to say, already on his way to the Command Centre and closely followed by Slingshot. "Don't hurt him! Wildrider is just confused, he doesn't know what he's doing…

"_No, not him. Your _other_ teammate."_

Silverbolt ended the comm link. For that, he didn't have an answer.

_To be continued._

* * *

_There was a small blink to the G1 episode 'Dawn of war', in which the Aerialbots travel through time to the ancient Cybertron. By the way, I've been working on a story related to that episode for a while and I will post it here shortly. It will be called "Dawn of Decepticon."_

_Thanks for reading and for your reviews. I hope next time I update my internet service will be running again… _


	18. My tail got sizzled

_Many thanks for your reviews, I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter :o) As predicted, the Stunticons' sudden weakness brought as a result some bullying from their fellow Decepticons, especially considering Motormaster is not around. That was to be expected; the 'Cons wouldn't comfort them with pats on the back. Now it's turn to take a peek at the Autobot base, where things will get pretty interesting as well._

_Thanks to the lovely iratepirate for beta reading. _

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**My tail got sizzled**

"They took our Energon?"

"They didn't take it. Dead End _gave_ it to them," Drag Strip said, shooting an imaginary dagger at the one whom he considered the only culprit. But Dead End, as usual, didn't seem to be affected by any accusatory words that were not accompanied by a fist. Besides, he was too busy cleaning his shoulder with a cloth to pay attention to anything else, removing the sticky remains of Blitzwing's stunt.

"Yeah, but did they take… all of it?" Breakdown repeated, somewhat appalled. He usually stayed behind and waited for his teammates to bring him his daily Energon rations. He didn't like the Refueling Room; it was always full and going there always felt like parading inside an ocean of piercing eyes… But never, until now, had the Stunticons been in danger of being left aside from the daily repartition of vital fluid, a ritual that had never been interrupted, not even when successful energy raids were rare and the tanks of the Nemesis were low.

"Dead End allowed it," Drag Strip kept complaining, not willing to let go. "We could've taken down the Coneheads and kept the Energon…. and I'm sure I could have managed to get theirrations too!"

"Doubtful," Dead End said. As indifferent as he had been toward his teammate's rant, there was a small part of him that had actually been bothered and had been successful in making him speak.

Drag Strip kicked a nearby container and walked toward the closest wall. "Yeah? Well, you could've chosen to be a cowardly slagger some other day and not today when I needed some extra Energon!"

"What do you need it for?" Breakdown asked him.

Drag Strip didn't reply and opened a hidden panel on the wall. His exclamation of annoyance was not a surprise to Breakdown, who already knew that Drag Strip wasn't going to find anything but an empty space there.

"Where the slag is Wildrider's emergency cube?" Drag Strip asked. It was curious that he was the only Stunticon who kept mentioning their lost teammate, and he always did it with the same rage.

Breakdown fidgeted, noticing that the question had been directed at him. Dead End continued cleaning up his shoulder as if nothing else existed in the Universe.

"I… gave it to the Aerialbot."

Drag Strip had a visor covering his optics, but Breakdown could always tell when he was frowning. "WHAT?"

He hated it. Breakdown hated it when Drag Strip started to act as if he was the leader, especially since he seemed to believe that commanding was the same as being an aft to everybody.

_I wonder where he learned that…_ Breakdown thought.

"His energy levels were very low, so I gave him the cube. What's the big deal?" Breakdown retorted, keeping his head up and sustaining Drag Strip's glare.

If Drag Strip was surprised at finding some opposition to his rants for a change, he didn't show it. "The big deal is that we are out of Energon, smart aft! Thanks to Dead End, I wouldn't be surprised if no one out there ever allows us to refuel again! And just now when I needed Energon the most, fraggit!"

"But what do you need it for?" Breakdown insisted.

Drag Strip chose to kick the open panel instead of replying, tearing the small cover off, and he kept kicking it as he left the room. Irate steps came next, and the hissing of a door opening and closing signaled the ending of his outburst, at least the part that his teammates could see or hear. They had no doubt that, if he could have done it, Drag Strip would have slammed the door as the Stunticons had seen humans do in the movies when they were pissed off.

"The truth is that I'm hungry too," Breakdown said, approaching Dead End and taking the cloth out of his hands. "Don't you have some Energon in your room?"

Dead End shifted and allowed Breakdown to clean his back. "No. Wildrider is the one who usually keeps a spare ration."

That had to be the reason why the three Stunticons had gathered precisely there, in Wildrider's room. It had to be, but it wasn't.

"Did he really… you know, stay with the Aerialbots 'cause he wanted?"

Breakdown could feel Dead End's shoulders tensing, and not precisely because of the shard of glass he just had removed from his joints.

"Yes."

It was more than clear that Dead End didn't want to talk about it, but Breakdown hadn't been there; he had to know.

"But… maybe they forced him?"

Dead End didn't reply. Breakdown realized that his teammate definitely didn't want to talk, so he tried to concentrate only on rubbing his upper frame, as much as it was clean of Energon stains already.

"You know Wildrider. How much does it take to force him to do anything against his will?" Dead End said after some uncomfortable minutes of silence.

Breakdown startled; he had sunk himself in his thoughts so much that for a moment he had begun to believe he was alone, the movement of his arm as mechanical as if it was being propelled by external gears.

"It's not how much… but _who,"_ he replied, thinking about Motormaster of course. He knew that Dead End agreed with him concerning the only way to control their wayward, former teammate.

"Exactly. He disobeyed Motormaster, twice. And he merged with the Aerialbots as if he had done it all his life."

Breakdown didn't know what to say. Grief assaulted him with a painful sting, but it wasn't because of Wildrider; as close as he had been to his teammate, every minute that went by pushed him farther and farther away. It was Dead End's depression that had caused the painful lurch in Breakdown's spark, and something else…

"That's why Drag Strip is so upset…" he ventured to say, trying to reassure himself on his lie.

"No."

For the first time in his life, Breakdown really didn't want to hear what Dead End had to say. _Don't say it… don't go there._

"He's angry because the Aerialbot left."

_You said it… _Breakdown stopped rubbing Dead End's shoulders. He could see the 'Game Over' title as clear as if it was floating right before his optics.

* * *

"You gave him my quarters?"

Incredulity, surprise, doubt, rage… Many feelings were certainly making their way through Air Raid's processor, but Silverbolt couldn't really tell. He was not bonded to him anymore.

He was also busy thinking, realizing that seeing Air Raid in front of him was exactly the same as seeing a ghost, only without the element of supernatural. Silverbolt was horrified when he confirmed that a not so small part of him had accepted the possibility that he would never see his former teammate again, at least not like that, inside the Ark, with a red symbol on his wings… He hated himself for automatically associating Air Raid with the Decepticons. It wasn't his fault that he had ended up on the wrong side of the battlefield. But it wasn't the Aerialbots' fault either…

"I was gone for a couple of days and I return to find out that you kept the Stunticon terrorist just because he followed you home?" Air Raid hissed, not bothering in hiding his rancor.

"He's not a Stunticon anymore… and you were not exactly just gone either…" Slingshot said somberly, his optics fixated on the floor.

Air Raid looked at him the same way he would have looked at a stranger, or worse, at somebody that he thought he had known only to realize he had been very mistaken. Disappointment was crystal clear in his only functional optic, the feeling as shattered as his other optic was.

"This is not a good place to talk," Silverbolt said, carefully grabbing Air Raid's arm and urging him to follow. He repressed a shiver when he realized that touching his former teammate felt so sterile. The memories of their past together refused to assist him in feeling anything else.

"Where do you want to go, then? To my quarters? Oh, should I say Wildrider's?" Air Raid scowled, evidently hurt and reluctant to physically touch as much as Silverbolt was.

Prowl momentarily stopped the uncomfortable discussion when he symmetrically divided the sea of gathering Autobots, some of them not looking very happy about the return of their comrade in arms.

"Air Raid," Prowl greeted him coldly. "It pleases me to see you alive and functional."

Even Air Raid seemed to find those words ironic. "Yeah, pretty much alive and functional…" he repeated with a glare from his working optic. "I've always said that luck is my second fuselage."

The small moment in which Prowl locked optics with Slingshot didn't go unnoticed to Silverbolt, and also helped to reignite his flame. This was one of the moments in which he had to behave like the leader of the Aerialbots, and that's exactly what he was going to do.

"If you need to interrogate Air Raid, you will do it later," he said assertively, definitely not the tone he generally used to address any superior officer. But he was a Gestalt team leader… he was part of the Autobot High Command as well. "We will talk to him first."

Prowl turned to Silverbolt, as if he were noticing his presence for the first time. "Air Raid is to be isolated until Optimus Prime returns."

There it was, the name that should have made Silverbolt silence his vocalizer… but he could feel Slingshot's gaze fixed on his neck like a red-hot claw, urging him to act.

"No," he heard himself saying. "This is a matter that concerns the Aerialbots foremost. We will handle it."

"I don't think I have to state why this is not an Aerialbot affair anymore. You are out of your jurisdiction, Silverbolt. Retreat to your quarters and wait for Prime to return. The order will not be repeated."

Prowl hadn't lied, but still, Silverbolt would remember that moment as one of the most painful of the nightmare, not to mention his life. It was true. Air Raid wasn't an Aerialbot anymore; it wasn't Silverbolt's job to deal with him…

"Isolated? You won't isolate me for frag!" Air Raid said, turning the tables again and making it a three sided confrontation where Silverbolt had made the mistake of seeing only two sides. "I managed to escape from the Decepticons and this is the reception you give me in return? Treat me as if I were some slaggin' 'Con that you just captured? Frag you all!"

Air Raid got rid of Silverbolt's grip with a violent yank of his arm and looked around, searching for support amongst the familiar, yet distrustful, faces.

"This is wrong," Silverbolt said, shaking his head and frantically trying to find some sort of communion with Air Raid. "This is all wrong. We are all Autobots here. That hasn't changed…"

Air Raid turned to look at him, and for a moment, only for a moment, Silverbolt allowed himself to feel hope. "Yeah? You tell that to Mr. Stiff Slagging Rules here. He wants to lock me in the brig to rust!"

"I never said that," Prowl said coldly.

Air Raid cast a quick glance over the Autobots surrounding him, and for a moment he looked overwhelmed. He ended up staring at Silverbolt and Slingshot, habit guiding him instead of any remains of the Gestalt bond they had shared since their creation, but had only taken a single moment to break.

"Come with me, Air Raid. I can help you," Prowl said, making it clear that those were his last words on the matter. Tension escalated so much that for a moment the red emblem was forgotten and two sides were formed, Air Raid standing in the middle and surrounded by nothing but enemies.

"He's not going with you, or with you either," Ratchet said ill-humoredly, making his way through the crowd and pointing his finger at both Prowl and Silverbolt, respectively. "The only place he's going is the Repair Bay, and that's final. I don't know if any of you warmongers noticed, but the kid is severely damaged, not to mention that he's missing a fraggin' optic!"

Prowl stepped aside. If there was somebody in the base who was beyond hierarchies, that was Ratchet. When he spoke, even Optimus listened.

And that's what Air Raid did, finally finding somebody who didn't stare at him with embarrassment, pity or distrust. He limped behind Ratchet in silence, not turning even once towards Silverbolt or Slingshot. It seemed, as far as he was concerned, like they were two more mechs amongst the crowd.

* * *

"_What the frag… Air Raid!"_

"_That's my name. Thanks for the welcoming party."_

"_But… you were supposed to be— Never mind, how the frag did you escape from the Decepticons?"_

"_Long story, it doesn't matter. But I escaped, didn't I? Now, I don't know if you noticed but you're blocking my way, Inferno. I would be very grateful if you step the frag aside."_

"_Not yet. We have to scan you first."_

"_Scan— Are you fraggin' insane? What the slag for?"_

"_Just be quiet and do what Inferno says."_

"_What your boyfriend says may be law for you, Red Alert, but not for me! What the slag is this? Let me in!"_

"_You were in the Nemesis all this time, as one of _them_… Try to understand. We have to make sure you're not carrying a bomb, or a spying device, or a—"_

"_Did you all go mad while I was gone? It's me, slaggit, not some fraggin' 'Con! Now let me in!"_

"_Air Raid, calm down! I'm not going to repeat it again."_

"_Really? Well, I actually plan to repeat _this!"

_CRACK!_

"_Inferno!"_

What had felt better, punching Inferno in the face or Red Alert crying his lover's name?

The answer was easy. Both things had been priceless.

Just like his conscience, his HUD came to life within comfortable numbness. He didn't feel pain at all, barely a small pulsation somewhere beneath him that reminded him that he still had a body.

There was an intense light above him, but not pointed directly at his face. There was also somebody else there, staring at him as the familiar buzz of optical sensors zooming in on his frame proved.

"Stay down," Ratchet ordered him when he attempted to get up from the berth. Frag, he was dizzy…

Air Raid obeyed. He had never liked or disliked Ratchet, but he had always trusted him.

"Who the frag patched you up and called it a repair job? That had to be the worst I've ever seen in all my eons of medical practice," the doctor complained grimly.

"Long Haul," Air Raid replied, not thinking about the Constructicon but about who had ordered those repairs to be done.

"Figures… Hook would have never done such a pathetic job, I tell you… The fragger's a psycho, but also an expert physician."

Air Raid couldn't have been less interested in Ratchet's praises for his Decepticon counterpart. "How long was I offline?" he asked.

Ratchet took a couple of seconds to reply, certainly checking his internal chronometer. "Four joors and seven breems… How do you feel?"

Air Raid really wanted to get up, but weakness had started to run through his fuel lines along with the painkillers that Ratchet had certainly injected him with. He ran a scan of his status and discovered that all his wounds had been repaired, although most of them had already been patched up by Long Haul, as much as Ratchet found his work questionable. And, once again, it wasn't the Constructicon the one he had to thank for that.

"Alive," he said, noticing that his vision was still partial. "Why haven't you replaced my optic?"

"We're not exactly rich in spare optics, you know," Ratchet scowled. "Besides, your optical sensors are damaged and need to restore themselves before attempting anything else."

Air Raid didn't really care about that. His sight and looks were the last of his priorities, just like the rest of his physical status.

Ratchet cursed in a low voice when his comm link buzzed anxiously. "It's Skydive again. He has been asking for you twice a breem since I put you in stasis lock. This is not a common room and visitors are not allowed, but I guess I can make an exception… Do you want to see him?"

Air Raid thanked Ratchet inwardly for considering his opinion. To be brutally honest, the last thing he wanted was to confront any of his former teammates again, but he fooled himself enough to force his answer.

"Yeah… why not?"

His enthusiasm didn't improve when Skydive and Fireflight entered the Repair Bay, and he was almost shocked when Skydive hurried to surround him with his arms in a very brusque hug. Air Raid found himself wondering if the gesture had been genuine or just a poorly executed plan. He could almost see Skydive planning that hug for all the breems that he had been under Ratchet's scalpel… He immediately recriminated himself for such thoughts. Perhaps the Gestalt programming had cast him out, but that didn't mean that his former teammates hated him. Bonded or not, he had been built beside those mechs and had grown, fought, refueled and recharged with them. They were his family, the only mechs in the Universe he could trust.

"Hey," he said absent mindedly.

"Frag, it was about time for you to wake up," Skydive said. "The Hatchet took forever to repair you." He looked over his shoulder, but the medic had discreetly left the Repair Bay. No flying wretches would keep that day spare of awkward moments.

"I wasn't that hurt. Putting me in stasis lock was frankly an overreaction."

"Tell that to Ratchet," Fireflight said, his smile not managing to hide how awkward he was feeling. "He insisted that you had a nasty repair job and that it had to be redone."

"Nasty, but it kept me alive," Air Raid said, not knowing why he was beginning to feel angry.

He got up, sick and tired of being motionless, and managed to walk towards a nearby mirror. He should have felt satisfied looking at his smooth fuselage again, but his view focused on the metallic patch covering his optic, and not precisely because of vanity. Now he truly looked like a pirate.

Nobody noticed the sad smile that formed on his face plates for a moment, not even himself.

_Arrr Raid… _he remembered, immediately disregarding any thought that brought him back to a certain team of lunatics. _I'm not one of them, I'm not— How are they holding up, now that I've left…? Ah, frag! Who cares?_

"Air Raid?"

Only then he realized that Fireflight was calling his name, and not for the first time.

"Are you okay?"

_Of all the stupid questions… _"I'm fine," he hurried to reply once he turned his back to the mirror and addressed Fireflight and Skydive again. He could have spent more time on the uncomfortable, hypocritical small talk, but he preferred to get straight to the point. "Where's that Stunticon freak right now?"

The two Aerialbots looked at each other hesitantly. Team complicity… Air Raid knew it too well, but witnessing it as an outsider was excruciatingly painful.

"In his— in your room," Fireflight said. "Uh, we didn't have anywhere else to take him, so…"

"Look," Skydive said, visibly tired of pretending it was just an ordinary day. "This has shocked us all, 'Raid. One moment we are fighting the Stunticons and one astroklik later Wildrider is bonded with us… We had to bring him here, and protect him. It was not exactly an easy choice."

Of course it hadn't been an easy choice. Air Raid knew it too well. He perfectly knew what if felt like to be forced to acknowledge a bunch of psychotic enemies as his brothers. It made no fragging sense at all.

"What did the Stunticons tell you… about all this, I mean?"

If there was something worse than an uncomfortable silence, it was an uncomfortable question. Fireflight seemed to lament having opened his mouth, but it was too late.

"They didn't say much," Air Raid replied, not as angrily as he had expected. "They beat me up, and then they beat me up again… oh, and later, guess what they did? They beat me up!"

That was not entirely true. Motormaster had beaten him alright, and Drag Strip too. Breakdown would have done it if he had overcome his absurd fear of being stared at, and Dead End would have possibly engaged if Air Raid had cared enough to provoke him… but it was simpler to put it that way. Autobots and Decepticons were enemies. There was no need to go into useless details about the beatings, the repairs and the awkward moments of affinity… No, there was no need at all. As far as Air Raid was concerned, it was okay if everybody believed he had been the punching bag of the entire Nemesis.

"What about you?" he counterattacked. "Is there a reason why that Stunticon is in _my _quarters instead of the brig where he belongs – and in pieces, by the way?"

"There's actually a reason. He's bonded to the Gestalt now."

He would have expected Fireflight to take some fake exit, to mumble… anything to avoid awakening his rage. But he had said the truth instead, the one thing that was killing Air Raid, but also the thing he needed the most.

"Yeah, and you can't kill him because of that, I know… The Stunticons went through a similar process with me."

Skydive took a step towards him. "Who cares about the Stunticons? 'Raid, you're back! That's all that matters. You escaped those freaks, you're not one of them. You're back with us now."

"Yeah, back… but I'm not one of you anymore. You didn't see the way Silverbolt was afraid to touch me earlier, and Slingshot… Slingshot didn't even dare to look at me."

That had been what had hurt the most about his return. Slingshot had been Air Raid's closest teammate ever since the moment they knew there was a thing called life, right before they knew about the other thing called war.

"He has gone through a lot, like the rest of us," Skydive said. "But give him time, he'll be okay. He has gone through stuff with Wildrider, that's all."

The mention of the name made his vital fuel boil. It seemed like the craziest, sickest joke of all; Wildrider inside the base, comfortably installed inside a team that was not his, taking _his _place…

A hand positioning itself over his shoulder surprised him with its warmth. "There's no way we're going to give up on you, no way…" Fireflight told him reassuringly. "We're still brothers, aren't we?"

"I don't know… you tell me," Air Raid said, certain that his vocalizer was being crushed by an invisible hand.

Skydive folded his arms across his chest and examined Air Raid with a thorough look. "Let's see. There they are, the paintjob, the Autobot insignia, the face a little fragged up, the wings… yeah, the wings. I don't know about you, Fireflight, but Air Raid seems pretty much an Aerialbot to me."

Fireflight smiled, and Air Raid could remember that smile, always so sincere and comforting. Why did it look so different, then?

He didn't want to think anymore, not that day. His head was hurting so much, as did everything else.

Fireflight was smiling, and that's what mattered. And Skydive… Skydive had flown many times beside him, imitating his most suicidal maneuvers… there was no doubt that it would happen again. He had to believe it.

"Get me out of here," he said. "I'm tired of all these medical tools…"

Skydive and Fireflight guided him gently outside the Repair Bay. Their hands on his arms were so gentle indeed, warm… Then why the slag did he keep thinking about the touch of Breakdown and Dead End, not gentle at all, but his all the same?

Air Raid shook his head. He was indeed done with thinking, and thus with torturing himself.

Still, he had to make an effort to convince himself that he was at home.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Okay, time for us to come back to the other leg. Next chapter will be a hundred percent Wildrider!_

_Please let me know your opinions. Last week I started a fic which has recently caught a lot of my attention, and to be honest I'm thinking about putting most of my fics on hiatus to concentrate only on that one… but if you guys want frequent chapters of the Leg, I'll make sure to keep updating accordingly. To those of you who are reading them, there are updates of 'What makes you tick' and 'Once a Decepticon…' on the way, but after that you'll see a lot of 'Our Darkest Hour'… Anyway, let me know. I highly value your opinions and will update the fics you want to read. I curse myself for starting so many stories practically at the same time!_


	19. So long, cruel world

_Thank you very much for your reviews. All your opinions were taken in consideration, and since you asked for more Leg, I'll make sure to keep updating. Besides, things are getting to a boiling point here and I don't want to keep you waiting._

_As I promised, this chapter will be a hundred percent Wildrider. Writing him is extremely enjoyable, but also quite a challenge, especially when doing it from his point of view. Here the challenge was double because Wildo is dealing with a very peculiar gamma of feelings. You'll see._

_Okay, no more preambles. Welcome to a journey through Wildrider's insanity, more than meets the eye, as the old motto says. _

_Grammar revised by my dear friend iratepirate. _

* * *

**Chapter 19**

**So long, cruel world**

"_Wildrider!"_

"Yeah!"

"_Stay with the Aerialbots."_

"Uh… but I'm a Stunticon."

"_Not anymore. You're an Aerialbot now. Stay with them and don't you ever come back!"_

Wildrider blinked. Okay, maybe that was not the way Motormaster would say it…

He moved the gray container a little bit more and put the gears of his insanity into motion once again.

"_Not anymore, you idiot _–yeah, that was more like it. _You're an Aer— _no, _a fraggin' Aerialbot now. Stay the frag with them and don't you ever come back or I'll tear your fraggin' arms off!"_

And then, a punch to the face and the cherry would be added to the top of the pie.

Wildrider threw himself backwards, a ragdoll falling on the floor.

"Whatever you say, boss," he said in low, sad voice. "Whatever you say…" He couldn't see very clearly. His eyes were glassy for some reason.

He kept staring at the ceiling for a few long seconds. No, that hadn't sounded right…

He sat up again and placed the metal container beside the yellow crate. Maybe if he gave it another try…

"_Wildrider, you fraggin' idiot—"_

Okay, he was done with the insults… Maybe he could focus his attention on Yellow for a change…

"_I wish you had never been built."_

He cringed, hit by an invisible fist. Invisible, but it had actually hurt. Drag Strip had punched him tons of times, but he had never told him anything like that.

He didn't like that game anymore.

He pushed the container and the crate away, not even daring to look towards his left, where Blue and Wine Red waited in the shape of chairs. Breakdown and Dead End wouldn't want to do anything with him either, he was sure. He was like the vermin of the vermin of the vermin, just bigger and with spikes on his head.

And it wasn't that his new teammates wanted anything to do with him either. If they did, they would've been there with him, when he needed them the most.

It hurt; however he tried to address the situation, it hurt. He hadn't felt that bad since the day Motormaster had punched him for two hours straight after he messed up an energy raid, but this was far, far worse. At least back then he hadn't been alone. Motormaster had mopped the floor with him and had broken two walls with his head, but the boss had also stood guard outside the Repair Bay to make sure nobody messed with him whilst he was in recovery. And Drag Strip had given him a can of his best wax. And Breakdown had used the wax and treated his just repaired hood. And Dead End had told him a bedtime story and lulled him into recharge – although later he had learned that Dead End had been just talking, not trying to make him sleep.

Wildrider coughed, or at least tried to imitate what he had seen the humans doing when they smoked too much. He coughed again, and again, but the action brought him no relief. He still felt that thing inside his throat, crushing it, carrying the pain down his struts to his very core. There, it hurt there… where Motormaster said his waste of a spark was.

It was a waste indeed, because it kept functioning. At that point, he would have welcomed Motormaster's fists; they would have made him feel alive. But if he could have chosen, he would have preferred racing Drag Strip and Breakdown, or getting lulled by Dead End's bedtime stories with all those big words and references to doom. They were always good for a stasis nap… and a smile.

But he couldn't choose anymore, and every part of him, from the crazy to the craziest, was sure about that. He had been snatched away from his team and thrown into another, just like in those human reality shows where families switched mothers. But this was worse, because he had never seen humans merging with other humans into giant humans, even less changing legs with other giant humans by accident.

Menasor certainly hated him.

He took another look at the door. Closed. How long? How long had he been alone?

He got up and ignited his anti-gravitational system. He didn't use it much, but another thing he was certain about was that he would have to use it a lot from now on. The Aerialbots didn't like to ride. And he was supposed to be the insane one…

His head hit the ceiling with a soft thud, and Wildrider allowed the rest of his body to make contact with the orange metal above. He searched for any kind of warmth there but he found none. He just kept floating against the ceiling, his face looking for a familiar neck to lean against, his arms extended without any shoulder to hold...

It hurt.

Drag Strip had often allowed him to stay in his room for the night, when Wildrider had been too hyperactive to recharge by himself. Breakdown usually allowed him too – Wildrider cuddled against his back because Breakdown didn't like to be stared at, even by offlined optics. Dead End had shared his room with him once, the day Motormaster had beaten Wildrider so badly that he hadn't been able to walk for three days. And Motormaster… well, Wildrider was insane, but not as much as to actually ask Motormaster to have a pajama party together.

Wildrider hit the ceiling with his helm. He was very familiar with his insanity, so most of the time he could tell when his mind was wandering too much, threatening to take him beyond his limits. Dead End had told him more than once to be careful. There was a line indeed, even for Wildrider, and if he crossed it perhaps he wouldn't be able to return. For the first time in his life, he found himself wanting to cross that line. Maybe if he allowed insanity to completely take him over, he would stop thinking. Maybe he would forget about everything and the pain would stop.

A noise outside the door made him jump. Well, jump upside down because he was still stuck to the ceiling.

It was about time the Aerialbots returned. He was very lonely without them, lost. Maybe he could talk to Fat Lips again about returning him to his real team… Silverbolt had promised it, after all, and Wildrider knew that the Autobots honoured their promises and stuff. He wouldn't be welcomed amongst the Stunticons after what had happened in the junkyard, of course, but he could take twenty four hours of beatings if he could spend his next night at home. Twenty four? He would take a lifetime of beatings, bring them on! When his brothers hit him, it didn't hurt that much, not even when Motormaster used him as a punching bag because Wildrider was sure that the boss had never hit him using all his strength.

The door didn't open, so he hurried to open it himself, turning his anti-grav off in the process and landing sonorously on the floor.

But there was no one outside. He had hoped to see Silverbolt, or Slingshot, or Fireflight, or Skydive… It was funny that he had never managed to learn the names of all the Aerialbots. And now? All it had taken was for him to merge into Superion and now those four names were as familiar to him as his own. He could even tell their favorite colours without the need to ask them. The Gestalt bond made those things happen.

He stepped out of the room and took a look around – even upwards, 'cause the Aerialbots were fliers and maybe they were all above him, waiting to pounce on him in the best 'Robot Fight Club' style. The truth was that he would have welcomed that beating too.

But the corridor was empty. And he hated it.

"Hey, Fat Lips!" he ventured to say. He had promised he would never call Silverbolt that again, so if the boss was around, he certainly would be punished.

He started to walk toward the end of the corridor, mumbling things about Silverbolt and how he was the Angelina Jolie of the Autobots. But nobody replied, the silence only managing to drag him further and further away from the place Silverbolt had ordered him to stay. He had promised he would remain there, but that was the good thing about being insane. He could always play the, uh, insane.

He walked through two corridors of orange loneliness before he reached an open door. For Wildrider, any open door was an invitation to sneak in. Or closed too, another reason why he loved to have a force field and four wheels.

But he didn't enter the room by himself. He was aided by a hand that grabbed him by one of the spikes on his helm – frag, how he hated that! – and an arm that closed around his neck and trapped him in a head lock.

"Oh, so the Stunticon fragger left his playpen! What did Ironhide say about this Deceptiscum, 'Sides?"

"He told us not to mess with him whilst he was with the rest of the Aerialbots… but I'd say he's pretty much on his own now," Wildrider heard Sideswipe's voice drilling his audios.

Of course, Wildrider could have come up with some snarky remark, but he was too busy struggling to free himself from Sideswipe's grip. He hated being immobilized.

Things didn't get better when Sunstreaker tried to use his face to score a field goal. Fortunately, his stubborn head stayed attached to his neck joints despite the brutal kick that showed him just how colorful the world was. Wildrider loved colours, but he didn't enjoy pain.

"Sssh, ssh…" Sideswipe whispered right after his brother's attack. "We don't want to fight." However, his grip on Wildrider's neck remained brutal, joints creaking with the pressure.

"Nnnice," Wildrider said between clenched dental plates. His head felt as if it was rotating, but he continued struggling. "Let's frag, that would be better. Who wants to be the maid bot and who wants to be the old fella dressed like a secretary?"

"You sick glitch!"

"Quiet, Sunny, let me handle this," Sideswipe said, finally releasing Wildrider and pushing him forward violently. "We just want to talk, ya know, Stunticon? And now that we have your attention…"

Wildrider turned around as fast as he could, but he didn't pounce at the Autobots immediately. Now that he was free to move, he was sure that he would manage to pound the twins hard for a breem or two before they took him down – if they could, 'cause he was really pissed off. But he remembered that he had promised Silverbolt that he wouldn't pick any more fights with the Autobots. Wildrider was not the kind that made promises, but Fat Lips had some sort of authority that reminded him of Motormaster, but without the cruelty and the bad attitude.

"Yeah, I guess you have my attention," he said, mentally picturing the best places to punch those bad imitations of Breakdown. "You can start dancing now. Where's the pole?"

"We want you to leave," Sunstreaker said bluntly, apparently not having heard Wildrider at all. "You're not welcome here."

Duh, Wildrider already knew that. He had seen no welcome carpet at his feet, but still… "Yeah? That's not what Fat Lips said."

Sideswipe couldn't repress a chuckle, but Sunstreaker's glare only intensified. "Silverbolt didn't tell you otherwise because he couldn't. But he hates the fact that you're here; all the Aerialbots do. You just came to mess everything up."

The Aerialbots didn't hate him, he knew that for sure. Why was that Autobot lying? He didn't want to be hated.

"As a matter of fact, the Aerialbots are making things right as we speak", Sideswipe said, folding his arms across his chest and staring at Wildrider with superiority. "Do you know the news, weirdo?"

"About zombies taking over the world? Yeah, I heard."

"No, you idiot. Air Raid returned. The other Aerialbots are with him right now."

Wildrider stopped listening to Sunstreaker as soon as he said 'Air Raid returned.' There it was, the other name, the one that he hadn't managed to learn, the one that remained outside his processor until this fraggin' yellow Autobot dared to force it inside… right into the place that hurt.

His rage increased. If he were the one to return to his former teammates, would they welcome him too?

"That's not true," he said, dragging out the words. He didn't care about the Autobot twins anymore, he just needed reassurance. He needed to know that it was a lie and that no intruder was threatening his place within the team…

_His place…_

_His team._

Sunstreaker pointed a thumb towards himself, his features sinister. "Would this pretty face lie to you, Deceptiscum? Air Raid is back! The Aerialbots don't need you anymore. They will kick you out any moment now. Heh, they may kill you too."

Wildrider didn't give a frag about the killing part. He was still stuck on 'Air Raid is back', although at the same time he started to panic about the possibility of his team expelling him.

That was worse than death. That was worse than a thousand deaths. He was a Gestalt robot, a team player… he couldn't be on his own.

Wildrider pushed the twins away from him and stormed out of the room. He didn't care if he had to fight the entire Autobot army. He was looking for answers, but most of all, he was looking for company, the only company he needed.

He hated solitude, and he was sure that solitude hated him because it was always looking to hurt him.

* * *

He found his team in a room in the lower part of the base, guided by the Gestalt bond. The fraggers… maybe they didn't like him, but they were linked to him and they couldn't break that just because they wanted.

But he froze in his place when he saw that, indeed, they were not alone. The intruder was there, contaminating the Gestalt with his foreign presence. Gah! Wildrider was used to interacting with other Decepticons, outsiders to his Gestalt, but they were not intruders, only outsiders within the same faction. This one, on the other hand…

The intruder was leaning on a bulkhead, and Fireflight and Skydive were talking to him.

Wildrider couldn't hear what they were saying, so his mind promptly filled the blanks.

_Fireflight: I' m so glad you came back, Air Fuck._

_Skydive: Yeah, we can interface now._

_Air Fuck: Sure, but what about the Stunticon?_

_Fireflight: Oh, no problemo. We'll get rid of him now. Silverbolt had this giant shredder built especially for him._

_Skydive: Yeah, and we can interface after we're done tearing him to pieces._

Wildrider's script was interrupted momentarily when Silverbolt and Slingshot joined the complot-party.

_Slingshot: Oh Air Fuck, you look lovely in that pink tutu._

_Air Fuck: Thank you! I've always been a ballerina in disguise._

_Silverbolt: We are all together again, finally! Now we can get rid of that Stunticon scum and return to our perfect Aerialbot lives._

_Skydive: Yeah, and then we can interface like petro-rabbits._

Air Fuck raised one fist and shook it.

_Air Fuck: I'll be the first one in punching the Stunticon piñata to death!_

_Fireflight: And I'll be second. I bet he carries Energon goodies!_

Skydive put his hands on Air Fuck's shoulders.

_Skydive: 'Face me now, come on!_

Air Fuck slapped Skydive's arms away.

_Air Fuck: Noooo, I wanna fuck Fat Lips first!"_

Wildrider fell to his knees, grabbing his head and shaking it furiously. He had to stop… He had to stop now, before his insanity dragged him to the place of no return. It was not likely that the Aerialbots were having that exact conversation… It didn't help that just a few days ago he and Drag Strip had held a competition to see who could say the word 'fuck' more times in a row either.

Fuck, fuck…? No, focus! He had to focus. There were many things at stake, important things that demanded his attention. He couldn't allow himself to lose control now, when he needed his senses the most.

As the blindfold of complete craziness gave him a break, another realization found a way to sneak in.

He was an Aerialbot. The Aerialbots were his team.

_His team._

And there was no way, no way at all, that he would allow an outsider to take _his _place.

He jumped to his feet and stormed out of his hiding spot. All the Aerialbots were surprised to see him. The outsider too.

"Wildrider!" Silverbolt said his name uselessly. "What are you doing here? I told you to wait for us."

And that fat lipped robot was _his_ slagging leader, not the outsider's. But leader or not, Wildrider was beyond authorities at that moment.

He managed to dodge Fireflight and Skydive when they tried to stop him, and he arrived at his intruder objective.

"You and me," Wildrider said, poking the outsider in the chest. "Right now! Winner keeps the girl."

He heard Silverbolt saying something behind him, but he only had eyes – and hate – for the fraggin' impostor before him. His next thought felt natural in that moment: That was no Aerialbot, that was a Stunticon… an enemy.

The one-eye fragger smirked, right before slapping Wildrider's hand away, tacitly accepting the challenge.

The other Aerialbots were talking too, complaining, but at that point, Wildrider knew that whatever was about to happen was between him and the intruder.

This time, only one would remain standing, and one Gestalt robot would end up limping.

_To be continued._

* * *

_I think Gestalt robots are, in general, very possessive about their teammates. Wildrider, being insane and afraid of loneliness, would have that side of a combiner robot even more accentuated. _

_Sorry for abusing the word 'fuck', but I always thought that, since the Stunticons were in constant touch with the human culture, they were very permeable to acquire some human words or habits as well. I can perfectly picture Wildrider and Drag Strip having that new word competition together._

_Coming up next: Wildrider and Air Raid's showdown. Make your bets, people. And make your guesses too. _

_Your reviews are very welcome :o)_


	20. Destroy fake Stunticon

_Okay, the moment of the truth has arrived! I hope that you made your bets because the fight between Wildrider and Air Raid is about to begin! We don't have dancing girls, but we have all the gamma of Gestalt feelings at its peak. _

_Many thanks for your reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter :o)_

_Gratitude to my dearest friend iratepirate for beta reading. _

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**Destroy fake Stunticon**

There had been no need to throw a coin to choose the place for the fight. The beginning of it all, the deserted landscape in which the curse had begun, was the ideal location for the improvised arena. Nobody had had any objection.

It had been relatively easy to flee from the Ark without giving any explanations. Red Alert had freaked out and Ironhide had started to yell – Prowl hadn't even had time to show up – but that was the good thing about being the only Autobot supersonic fliers. The Aerialbots could get away and their comrades in arms were not able to follow. Speed was as great as the skies.

"Tell me again why you agreed to this nonsense of a fight," Fireflight told Silverbolt.

The Aerialbot leader zoomed in his optical sensors at the distance. "This is between Wildrider and Air Raid, Fireflight. At this stage, forbidding the fight to take place would be useless. They would find a way to sort it out sooner or later. Better for them to do it now, where I can make sure they don't kill each other."

"Besides, perhaps this could be the way to fix this mess. Who knows?" Skydive said.

Fireflight took a discreet glance towards Air Raid, who had remained apart from the group ever since they had left the Ark. "Has any of you considered what will happen if Wildrider wins? Does that mean we will kick Air Raid out? And… and what if 'Raid wins?"

"We won't kick out anyone," Silverbolt stated severely. "Wildrider is part of our Gestalt now, so he stays. As for Air Raid, he will remain with us as well. A teammate is made of something more than programming. We have been adapting to big changes since the very first moment we were sparked. We will adapt to this one too."

"But they both agreed that the loser would leave…" Fireflight insisted.

Silverbolt shook his head vigorously. "Nobody leaves. If they both need to vent some frustration over this situation, so be it. When they're done, maybe they can understand that the six of us can function as a team. Air Raid may not be able to merge with us anymore, but he's still one of us."

Fireflight didn't seem convinced. "That's not what his programming says… What if he, you know… feels the need to return to the Stunticons?"

"Air Raid hates the Stunticons," Skydive said, shaking his head. "Who doesn't? I bet they hate themselves."

"This is not about his feelings, 'Dive, you know that. He may hate them, but he may also feel the need to be with them…"

"We will fight such need," Silverbolt interrupted Fireflight. "Even if Air Raid belongs to the Stunticon Gestalt now, they are not an option for him. He's an Autobot… and their sworn enemy. It would never work. We are his family unit, the best for him. We know that and so does he."

From his place, sitting on the top of a big boulder, Air Raid shot them a ferocious look.

"Yeah, a family he hates," Slingshot said, almost rancorously. It was the first time he had spoken since they had left the Ark.

"That's not true…" Fireflight began to say, but they all shut up when they saw Wildrider arriving from the West, driving in alt mode. Slingshot had offered to fly him there, but Wildrider had refused. He had insisted on following them using his anti-gravitational system, but it seemed that he had decided to drive the last part of the road.

"Well, fragger's here," Slingshot hissed, hating himself for the sudden inclination of his loyalties.

Wildrider transformed into his bipedal mode and removed a bush from one of his tires.

"Sorry I'm late, honey. I stopped to get you some flowers," he said, throwing the bush at the Aerialbots' feet.

Air Raid scowled at the familiarity with which Wildrider had addressed his former teammates and jumped from his rock.

"Wait!" Silverbolt said, hurrying to get between the two. "I agreed to this fight only because you two promised you would keep it clean. Don't forget it: no weapons, and _no_ use of deadly force. Remember that I will stop the fight if I see either of you crossing the line."

"Yeah, yeah," Air Raid said dismissively. "I'll try to keep your Decepticon pet in less than ten pieces. You've got my word."

Silverbolt was not convinced at all, but he stepped back, sighing. "All right… Commence, then. Fight as gentlebots."

"Sure, boss! How's this for gentle?" Wildrider sounded his battle cry, kicking a cloud of dust towards Air Raid's face, making clear just how clean he intended to keep the fight.

Air Raid stepped back, only to be immediately assaulted by a grey lightning bolt that pounced at him and grabbed him by the waist. Both Transformers collided on the ground, raising a considerable amount of dust and small rocks.

"Heh, what happened to your optic?" Wildrider giggled. "You should wear contacts next time you decide to mouth off to the boss."

Air Raid growled in rage, knowing perfectly well what boss Wildrider was talking about, but he said nothing. He just punched Wildrider in the face as hard as he could, and he was rewarded by the melodic sound of metal denting metal. Wildrider's grimace of pain was a welcomed bonus.

"How could you? I'm pregnant!" Wildrider complained, still straddling his opponent.

Air Raid grabbed him by the helm and managed to reverse their position. Wildrider ended up beneath the ex Aerialbot, but he took the opportunity to kick his enemy between the legs.

"Ha! Thank your maker that you're not human, Wings!" Wildrider laughed, not caring about another brutal punch that Air Raid delivered to his face.

Wildrider returned the pain by lifting his head and twisting it aside, one of the spikes on his helm scratching the face plates of his enemy and almost managing to pierce his only functional optic.

"Frag!" Air Raid scowled, pushing himself backwards and getting to his feet. The damage to his face had been more serious than he had initially thought, as he proved when he staggered back and took his hands to the wound that crossed him from optic to cheek.

He heard a transformation cog purring into motion, and next thing Air Raid knew was that he had been hit by the fastest – and toughest – Ferrari on Earth.

Air Raid used the force of the impact, though, to propel himself upwards. He transformed too and put some altitude between him and his enemy.

Wildrider laughed and went after him, a very uneven fight considering he was on the ground and Air Raid in the air. "Leaving so soon, Air Fuck? Gah! Aren't you going to wait for the dessert?"

The use of a human swear word sounded shocking to the four Aerialbots that were witnessing the fight. Beneath his usual lunacy, Wildrider had to be really angry indeed.

Air Raid turned around and shot a charge of plasma energy, impacting Wildrider's hood.

"Force field, remember? If you were a _real _Stunticon, you would have one!" the Ferrari said with mocking voice.

That must have got Air Raid furious because he attacked again, although this time Wildrider agilely avoided being hit.

"I said no weapons, Air Raid!" Silverbolt said, getting ready to transform.

"Wait," Slingshot said, grabbing his arm. "Let's wait and see what happens."

Much to his dismay, Silverbolt remained safely on the ground. He hated what was happening before his eyes, but he knew that they all needed it. Perhaps the time for defining Aerialbots and Stunticons had come, finally…

Wildrider shot a burst of laser fire himself, managing to distract Air Raid for a second. That's all the Ferrari needed to use a dune as ramp and head directly toward the airborne jet, looking for a collision.

A frantic cry of '_GERONIMO!' _announced what Wildrider was intending to do. Air Raid seemed to realize that he would lose such an encounter and transformed in mid air, trying to land on his enemy. Wildrider transformed too, and they both met in the middle of nothing, their bodies intertwined in a sonorous clash.

They started their fast descent upside down, their hands trying to break the other's neck.

"Use your wings, if you have them!" Air Raid cried. "All the Aerialbots have wings! Go on! Use them, freak!"

Of course Wildrider had no wings, and he was too proud to allow his anti-gravitational system to save him from doom.

"Oookay, I'll do it if you activate your force field! There's no Stunticon without a force field!" he yelled in response, head butting Air Raid as he spoke.

The result was as predictable as it was loud. They both crashed in a cloud of dust and rocks, Wildrider taking the brunt because Air Raid landed on top of him. But the infamous force field honoured its name and saved them both.

"Enough! I've seen enough! This charade ends now!" Silverbolt said, getting closer to the combatants.

But Wildrider and Air Raid kept fighting on the ground, punching, kicking and scratching each other as they tried uselessly to have a word on a situation that had already been decided.

"Arrgh! You bit me!" Air Raid complained as he tried to get his fingers inside Wildrider's optics in retaliation.

"Yeah, and you don't precisely taste like chicken!" Wildrider responded as he squirmed and kept punching.

When Silverbolt and the other Aerialbots approached, Wildrider took a momentary pause to look at them. Then he returned his attention to Air Raid, who was still on top of him.

"_They _are mine!" Wildrider cried. "Get your own teammates!"

Air Raid narrowed his optic. "I already did, you psycho! I got yours!"

Wildrider frowned and head butted his enemy again. "_Those _are not yours either! Why couldn't you have merged with the Combaticons instead?"

"Or you with the Protectobots!"

The street fight ended when Silverbolt grabbed Air Raid and got him off of Wildrider. Skydive and Slingshot seized the ex Stunticon by the arms and helped him to get to his feet. Not that he needed any help at all, because as soon as he was up he tried to pounce at Air Raid again.

"I heard the Constructicons had a vacancy! Why don't you give it a shot?"

The distance between them didn't stop Air Raid from throwing a ferocious, failed kick at his enemy. "You give it a shot, you fraggin' lunatic!"

Having reached his limit concerning useless violence, Silverbolt put his foot on the ground.

"I said that this fight ends now!" he shouted, his voice full of authority, as he pushed Air Raid aside. "Stand down, you two! That's an order!"

"You're not my leader anymore, you can't order me around!" Air Raid cried. He had obviously spoken without thinking, but that didn't ease the effect of his words.

Silverbolt confronted him. They were very similar in design, there was no way to deny they were brothers, but at that moment they seemed like the complete opposite. They looked like enemies.

"If that's what you think, then what are you doing here, Air Raid? I've been trying to reassure you that you are part of this team as you always were. But maybe it is you who needs to reassure yourself."

Air Raid looked as if he had been punched from the inside out. Unable to respond, he just lowered his head.

"Merge with them."

It took some astrokliks to realize who had spoken, the same astrokliks in which the Aerialbots learned that their new teammate, given the proper, ultimate pressure, could find a way to make his processor work without the cloud of lunacy shadowing it.

"Merge with them," Wildrider said again. "See what Superion has to say."

The uncomfortable silence stretched. Even though separated into his components, Superion was making up his mind.

"No," Silverbolt said emphatically. As the most important part of the Gestalt, he had the right to make the call, and hopefully Superion would understand. "We won't do such thing. We have nothing to prove here."

Wildrider shook his head frantically. "Not you boss, but he does. He says he's the big guy's leg. I say he proves it."

Skydive tightened his grip on Wildrider's arm and shook him brusquely. "That's not your call to make. Shut up!"

A beam of energy impacted Wildrider's chest, causing a mild explosion and offlining the ex Stunticon. But the real effect of the attack from Air Raid's torque rifle happened within the core of the Aerialbot programming. The Gestalt bond kicked in, and four aggressive gazes turned towards the culprit, unconsciously recognizing him as an enemy.

Brain module activity was completely absent as instinct took over. When Skydive spoke, he did it without thinking, guided by the thing every mech present recognized as the truth.

"You'll pay for this, Stunticon!"

Even the air froze. Four Aerialbots stood up, protecting their fifth member from an enemy. The distance that separated them from tearing the intruder limb from limb was as insignificant as the wind.

But, once again, the head of the Gestalt acted as such and seemed to understand that he couldn't allow irreversible things to happen. As much as Air Raid wasn't part of the Aerialbots anymore, Silverbolt couldn't allow his team to consider him their enemy.

"Very mature on your part, Air Raid," he said, brusquely grabbing Air Raid's armed hand and forcing him to lower it. "Have you had enough? What else do you need to understand that trying to kill Wildrider is useless? The malfunction in the Gestalt happened, period! And that was nobody's fault. It's up to us to move on, all of us."

Air Raid was shaking, his grip on his torque rifle as fragile as ever. "He took everything from me," he hissed, his optic glaring at the unconscious Wildrider as if nobody else existed. There was not a single remain left of his former connection with the Aerialbots. Not even his design could pinpoint that once they had been associated. Winged, Autobot insignia on his wings, but the flier standing before the Aerialbots was nothing but a Stunticon.

"That was not his fault!" Silverbolt stated severely.

Air Raid turned to his former leader, expelling a furious gust of hot air through his vents. "Is it mine, then? What do you suggest we do now, Silverbolt? What do you suggest _I _do, now that it's clear that you traitors have made your choice."

"You are an Autobot, that hasn't changed," Silverbolt kept holding to the last argument he had. It didn't escape anybody's attention that Silverbolt had said Autobot, and not Aerialbot.

"I'm a Gestalt! The only reason I was an Autobot was because Prime and the other fraggers said we had to be, but they never really gave us the chance to decide! We were there and we couldn't be anywhere else because the other side would shoot us to death! What am I supposed to do now, function solo? Do you expect me to get cozy with Skyfire, Tracks and Cosmos as the only Autobot fliers and watch all of you merging with that Stunticon freak in front of my slaggin' face? No fraggin' way! I have a place in this team! In case you forgot, I was built beside you!"

Silverbolt seemed out of words. Every word spilled by his former teammate was nothing but the truth, but that didn't make the pain more bearable. The Gestalt wasn't readjusting; it was simply confronting the situation once and for all.

"It doesn't feel that way anymore," Slingshot spoke somberly. "I am one that would like to ask you what kind of interaction you had with the Stunticons whilst you were in the Nemesis."

Everybody turned to look at him, even Fireflight, who was holding Wildrider in his arms and looked very concerned about him.

Air Raid didn't reply. He couldn't. He just stared back at Slingshot, agape.

"You said you were beaten, but I have seen Motormaster beating his minions far worse than the number he did on you… Did you fraternize with the Stunticons, Air Raid? I think it would be fair for you to tell us. We have made no secret of the fact that we never considered Wildrider a prisoner."

Air Raid looked at the one that had been his closest brother with infinite disappointment. "How could you even suggest that?" he said with a voice that didn't sound like his.

"There was a report of a Stunticon attack on a parking lot in Canada," Slingshot continued, finally fixating his optics on Air Raid. "The human authorities confirmed that you were there."

Fireflight turned to look at Slingshot. "How do you know that?"

"That doesn't matter. Would you please explain yourself, Air Raid? I really would like to know, because I couldn't believe Prowl when he told me. You call us traitors, but maybe it was you who betrayed us first. Did that brute Motormaster force you to do something? Or did you do it because you wanted to?"

Air Raid straightened his stance and looked at his former teammates, one by one.

"Motormaster may be a brute," he finally said. "But he's much more loyal than you, Slingshot. He would never stab any of his teammates in the back… If he has something to say, he just goes and does it, no matter if he breaks your head in the process."

The sudden defense of the Aerialbots' most hated enemy was the ultimate confirmation that both the Aerialbots and the new Stunticon needed, as extremely painful as it was.

Air Raid shook his head slowly, disappointment more than clear in the tense line of his mouth. "You know what? You're right, all of you… The Stunticons are a bunch of insane freaks, but at least they wouldn't have plotted with a foreigner to betray one of their own. I see it clearly now. I made a big mistake by coming back."

He then turned to Slingshot. "Tell Prowl that his point was taken. I understand what I am and what I am not. But also tell him that his little experiment has just blown up on his aft. I'm not going to be a solo Autobot flier. As a matter of fact, I'm not even going to be an Autobot."

"The slag…?" Skydive muttered, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You don't mean…?"

"Stop right there. You're not thinking clearly," Fireflight said. "This fight was a stupid idea from the very beginning. We all need to calm down."

"I'm very calm here," Air Raid said, rather coldly. "I wasn't actually thinking when I returned here in the first place. I don't know why I came up with the stupid idea that I was going to find my teammates waiting for me."

It was Silverbolt's turn to say _"We are your teammates," _but even he would have found it ridiculous to sustain the charade.

"Your teammates are not here."

Slingshot's words had been cruel, but nobody thought about blaming him for them. They were Gestalts after all, they all understood that cruelty was what everybody needed. Superion couldn't keep waiting for his identity anymore, and somewhere else Menasor was waiting too. It was not about what everybody wanted anymore, it was what they needed to remain alive. They were Gestalts, and they needed their order. They just couldn't survive without it. And if friends and foes had to be realigned, so be it.

When Air Raid left, he did it without a word. No goodbyes, no hurtful stares, nothing. He just left, abandoning his former team the same way he would have abandoned a group of strangers.

None of the Aerialbots dared to speak either. They didn't even dare to look at themselves. Only Fireflight reacted, tightening his embrace on Wildrider as if that former enemy was everything he had left in his life.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Superion complete._

_What about Menasor?_

_Stay tuned, my friends, next update is on its way._

_Merry Christmas to you all! Kids, if you receive a toy trailer as a gift, don't forget to paint it grey. Motormaster would never admit it, but I know he would like the detail :o)_


	21. My sentiment exactly

_First Leg of the year… We are reaching the final third part of the story, and my personal favorite. I will only say one thing: expect the unexpected._

_I want to thank QoS, prime writer and Stunticon specialist, for beta reading this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter 21**

**My sentiment exactly**

A small chaos greeted Optimus Prime when he returned to the Ark.

His soldiers were emotional, expressive, reluctant to accept drastic changes and extremely loyal. They were not the kind that held grudges for long, but too many things had happened between Autobots and Decepticons to give forgiveness a chance. Truth be told, Optimus was very far from being pleased with the recent, abrupt changes that had taken place within the core of one of his Gestalt teams, but he had been fair enough to analyze the situation from a rational perspective.

He went directly to his office, paying attention to the general claims but not doing much about them other than promising a prompt response. At that moment, there was only one mech he wanted to talk with.

"Tell me where I was, Prowl," he said as soon as his Second in Command was in his presence.

Prowl accepted the tacit invitation to sit in the chair across the desk, but he didn't make himself comfortable. "You were with the human authorities… requesting clearance for Wildrider."

Optimus Prime had always felt thankful, not to mention lucky, for his High Command. If Ironhide was his strength and Jazz his audacity, Prowl was his brain. Optimus nodded, somewhat relieved, even though he had noticed the coldness of his Second in Command's last statement. Prowl might have guessed his leader's latest move, but that didn't mean that he approved of it.

"I was with our human allies indeed," Optimus confirmed, "informing them about Wildrider's change of allegiance. I also requested they grant him an official reprieve for the crimes he committed whilst being a Decepticon, and the immediate allowance of all the privileges and rights any Autobot possesses, in concordance with the treaty we agreed upon with the human government four years ago."

"Was your request accepted?"

Optimus preferred to overlook the malicious hope he detected in the question. "Reluctantly. Wildrider has a long history with the local authorities. Unlike other Decepticons, the Stunticons' ground modes led them to spend considerable amounts of time in human city-states."

"I don't think the problem is the amount of time, but the destruction they cause during their stay in those city-states."

Prowl was always a reliable source of pinpointing the small, and not so small, uncomfortable details. Many Autobots disliked him for that, but Optimus had learned to appreciate him for the same reason. "Which is precisely why the human government only agreed to grant him a period of probation. They can't erase his criminal history from their records, but they are willing to give him an eventual official pardon if he proves himself worthy of it."

Prowl's face was always serious, but he found a way to surpass his standards. "If he proves himself worthy…" he repeated. "With all due respect, Prime, do you think that's even possible?"

"Wildrider was built in the middle of a war that wasn't his and forced to fight it. He was never given the choice to decide what he wanted to do, much less choose a side. I would be surprised if he even understands what this war is all about."

"For a robot who doesn't understand it, he always seemed to enjoy his role in said war," Prowl counterattacked immediately.

"We have his immaturity to blame for that, not his spark," Optimus answered equally promptly. "Besides, you must not forget what Wheeljack said about his mental status. Wildrider is not able to think clearly, and thus he's susceptible to be misguided."

"The perfect excuse for a terrorist."

Optimus couldn't help smiling beneath his face mask; that was a battle his Second wasn't willing to lose. "So it would appear, but there are other facts that intervened in my decision to advocate in his favour."

Prowl looked at him suspiciously.

Optimus placed a datapad on the desk. "The humans were kind enough to share Wildrider's criminal file with me… Quite impressive, as you can see."

"I would use the word abundant instead," Prowl said, shooting a look of disapproval at the amount of data scrolling through the screen. One bit of information caught his attention. "Robbery report?"

Optimus nodded, slightly amused. "One in which Wildrider was the victim, not the perpetrator. As you know, all the Stunticons were lifeless terrestrial vehicles before Megatron turned them into his most wicked experiment."

"Stolen vehicle report filled by Mrs. Alyssa Campbell and Mrs. Ellen Laurent…" Prowl read.

"A human family unit; a marriage, to be more precise. Wildrider was supposed to be a gift for their first wedding anniversary, but he was stolen from their garage the same day they bought him from the agency. I don't suppose he's aware of his background before becoming a Stunticon."

"And I don't suppose extinguishing his spark and returning him to his legal owners is to be considered," Prowl said as he placed the datapad back on the desk. "I admit that being turned into a Decepticon was not his choice, but becoming a terrorist was. He was granted the gift of sentient life; reasoning was his obligation. Despite his insanity, he had to be aware of his actions."

"Just tell me one thing, Prowl. Have you ever taken the time to examine the nature of Wildrider's faults?"

"The crime of one Stunticon is the crime of them all."

"That's where you're mistaken, my friend. Even though they are a Combiner team, we are talking about individuals." Optimus knew that Prowl didn't consider the Stunticons as authentic Transformers due to their terrestrial origins, but he wouldn't allow him to express his opinion on the matter. "And Wildrider is an interesting individual… Did you know that his criminal record doesn't include murder?"

Prowl didn't reply, but took a fast – and not dismissive enough – glance at the datapad.

Enjoying his small success, Optimus continued. "Wildrider has never killed a human. He hasn't even attempted to do it. That confirms my theory that he's fighting this war not only for all the wrong, but also incomprehensible reasons. He lacks the malice of any other regular Decepticon."

Prowl looked at him carefully, reading the Prime's intentions perfectly. "Are you thinking about rehabilitating him?"

"Wildrider is young and naïve. His mind may be defective, but it's also permeable. It wouldn't hurt him to have a positive influence for a change. I don't want to even think about the ways Megatron might have instructed the Stunticons about his cause."

"Considering the way we have seen them interacting, it's certain that Megatron just ordered Motormaster to force his teammates to fight for the Decepticon cause, no matter if he destroyed them in the process… But still, Wildrider is unstable, mischievous and dangerous. He lacks the basic principles that we Autobots hold sacred."

"I have my doubts about that, Prowl," Optimus said, resting his chin on his intertwined hands. "In a way, we weren't better than the Decepticons when we built the Aerialbots and made them part of our conflict. They were also confused and even thought about defecting to the Decepticons. But, unlike what Megatron did to the Stunticons, we gave the Aerialbots the opportunity to see with their own optics and make the decision by themselves. Fortunately, their sparks were in the right place and they chose wisely. I trust that giving Wildrider that kind of freedom will lead him to take the same decision."

"I think we are a little lacking in time travelling technology at the moment."

This time Optimus laughed. "I know there is hope left when you, of all mechs, allow humour into your speech, Prowl. The Aerialbots may have needed to travel to the past of Cybertron to make the right choice, but all that Wildrider needs is trust, and not only from his teammates but from the rest of us. Unlike the Decepticons, we don't consider sub groups a matter of division, but union."

Prowl didn't seem convinced, and in a way Prime was surprised that his Second restrained all the arguments he certainly had on that matter. "I find that debatable… But now that you mentioned the Aerialbots, I suppose you are aware of the news."

Optimus nodded. "Silverbolt commed me and briefed me on the events that led to Air Raid's departure."

"Departure? That's an optimistic, not to mention blind, way to consider what happened. Air Raid openly deserted."

"Air Raid made his choice, as I believe Wildrider also did when he helped the Aerialbots against his former teammates. The mechanics of Gestalt bonds are unknown to those of us who can't even conceive what it is to merge with other robots to create another individual. No wonder they call us foreigners, outsiders, even though we belong to their same faction and fight for the same things. I can't lie and tell you that I'm satisfied with the Aerialbot situation, but we have to do our best to support our friends. Before Gestalts, they are Autobots."

"I assume that the support part doesn't include former comrades that deserted us and became Decepticons."

Optimus shook his head slightly. "I wouldn't go that far. Air Raid made a decision, but he was forced to do it. The Gestalt bond is strong, stronger than any of us could imagine. I'm not so much concerned about his need to stay close to the group where he knows he belongs now, as for the decisions he will take after returning to the Stunticons. They are his team now, but he's an Autobot. Despite what his Gestalt programming dictates him to do, he can't override the principles he learned whilst he was an Aerialbot. Considering him lost would be a mistake."

Prowl's mouth was a straight, thin line on his face plates. It wasn't going to be easy for anybody, but above all, Optimus Prime was a mech of faith.

"I want to talk to Wildrider," Optimus said finally. "Send him here."

"He's in the Repair Bay," Prowl said calmly, not reacting toward a request he was certainly expecting. "Air Raid shot him point blank in the chest before leaving."

Optimus frowned. "What's his condition?"

"Completely functional, as far as I know… Ratchet reported that the damage was not serious, but he still has to spend the rest of the cycle in observation."

"Fine," Optimus said, getting up. "I'll go to see him, then."

Optimus had almost reached the door when he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Do you have something else to say, Prowl?" he asked, certain that his Second in Command wasn't convinced at all.

"Negative," was the frugal response.

Optimus nodded slowly. "As you wish. Inform the rest of the Autobots about my decision, and be extremely specific by letting them know that I won't tolerate any violent action taken against Wildrider from now on."

Prowl nodded respectfully and Optimus decided to let him process the news. Obviously Prowl wasn't satisfied, but he was also loyal and always followed orders, no matter if he approved them or not. Optimus just hoped that, with the time, Prowl would come to understand, just as Optimus himself needed to do so much at that moment.

* * *

Decisions were generally hard to take, especially when lives depended on them. Since his ascendant as the last of the Primes, Optimus had been forced to decide the fates of so many sentient beings that sometimes he found it ridiculous to talk about freedom anymore. But as he contemplated the offlined Decepticon on the repair berth, he couldn't remember any other time in which his orders had been so inclined toward the bizarre. He was not admitting a regular Decepticon into the Autobot ranks, but an insane, unpredictable, irresponsible terrorist… who happened to be innocent as well.

He wasn't surprised to find Silverbolt and Fireflight sitting beside their teammate. Optimus had bumped into Slingshot and Skydive on his way to the Repair Bay. Both Aerialbots had avoided him as soon as they saw him, apparently ashamed for a situation they had provoked, and yet accepted. Optimus would never blame them for that.

"Finally!" Ratchet greeted him. "I hope your arrival means also the arrival of some sense. Would you be so kind as to get these two out of my sight? I'm sick and tired of telling them to frag off!"

Optimus smiled beneath his face mask, more because of the image of Fireflight holding Wildrider's hand than because of the medic's rant. It had happened indeed; the Aerialbot Gestalt had finished readjusting.

Silverbolt hurried to get up and stepped towards him, but he didn't manage to do anything but bow his head.

Maybe Optimus Prime hadn't known the Aerialbot Commander for long, but he knew him enough. "Apologies are unnecessary, my friend, as I have nothing to reproach you for. You acted as the leader and the Autobot I always knew you were."

"Sir, I…"

When Silverbolt's vocalizer failed to continue, Optimus put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Silverbolt. We'll talk when you feel ready, but first I would like to have a conversation with your new teammate, if that's all right with you."

Silverbolt nodded and signaled Fireflight to follow him. Fireflight hesitated but let go Wildrider's grip. Optimus noticed how, despite being in stasis lock, the former Stunticon moved his fingers, subconsciously looking for the physical contact. What a marvelous thing the Gestalt bond was…

"Don't bother coming back," Ratchet told the two Aerialbots as he pushed them towards the exit. "Nobody is going to tear the crazy slagger off in your absence… and I could use some peace and quiet in my own slaggin' bay!"

Optimus walked towards the berth and stood beside Wildrider. "How long will he remain in stasis lock, Ratchet?"

"Unfortunately, not enough," the medic grunted and approached his leader. "He's not actually in stasis lock… I just offlined his primary circuits because I really didn't need to hear his jittery… He just makes no sense! Besides, there was already too much Aerialbot love here for my taste. If it's a berth these punks are looking for, they can go somewhere else, not my Repair Bay!"

Optimus repressed the chuckle. "Does that mean that you can return Wildrider to online status right now?"

"Mmph, yes… although I wouldn't recommend it. This Deceptiscum is much better company when he's offlined. Which reminds me… I was thinking that maybe we could sneak sedatives into his energon from now on, or chain him to the undercarriage of the ship. If he's going to stay here for good, it wouldn't kill us to have him under control."

Optimus shook his head slightly. As always, Ratchet was as perceptive as he was ill-humored. The medic had been perhaps the first Autobot to realize that Wildrider had arrived to stay, even before his own teammates. The Autobot leader would never be thankful enough for his CMO. "We'll see about that, old friend. Wake him up."

"Do you have your rifle ready?"

"Ratchet…"

The medic raised his hands. "All right, it's your frame… Just don't come and bother me to repair your when this nut case tries to kill you. I heard he bites."

Ratchet was as grumpy as few robots, but he was also one of the most compassionate mechs Optimus had ever met. The medic may have been reluctant to have a Decepticon in the base, but he had also accepted the situation and was willing to give Wildrider the same care he would give any other Autobot. Those were the principles of brotherhood that Optimus hoped all his soldiers would apply to their new comrade-in-arms, and hopefully Wildrider would learn to do the same.

Ratchet rebooted Wildrider's systems from the life-support machine the new Aerialbot was connected to, and left as discreetly as a grumpy medic could leave.

As the darkened optics began to lighten again, Optimus Prime wondered, not for the first time, if he was doing the right thing. Of course he had the integrity of one of the Autobot Gestalts to consider, but forcing a Decepticon into the Autobot ranks without expecting trouble was too much to ask.

Once again, he reminded himself that the former Stunticon before him had little blame. He was like a child, a lost and ill-mannered child, and proper guidance was something that could only benefit him.

New doubts about his decision – and the sanity of his new soldier – rose at the very first moment Wildrider returned to functional status. Two purple optics focused frenetically on Optimus' face and a hand pointed above his shoulder.

"Look! There's Elita-One with her spark chamber open!"

Those were definitely not the words Optimus expected to hear. Still, he didn't allow himself to be provoked and simply pushed Wildrider back when the ex Stunticon attacked him.

Wildrider fell on the berth again and cast him a confused look. "No, no… it's actually Megatron, look!" he went on rambling, grabbing the life-support machine and lifting it above his head, swinging it and preparing to use it as a weapon.

Optimus sighed inwardly, summoning all his patience. "That's hard-to-replace equipment; you'd do well by putting it down. I'm not here to fight, Wildrider."

Confusion intertwined with insanity in the depth of the purple optics. Wildrider looked around several times before finally putting the machine down. "Is this the Well of Allsparks? Dead End says that's a myth. I always thought the afterlife was more like a comic book."

If Optimus had thought he knew craziness just because he dealt with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker on a regular basis, he was very mistaken. "We are in the Repair Bay of the Ark."

Wildrider started and jumped off the berth, snatching off the cables that still connected him to the life-support machine. "What? Does that mean I lost the fight? Frag! I demand a second round!"

"There won't be a second round. You won't solve anything by fighting."

"But… but I have to kick that fragger outta my team, I gotta—"

"The status of the Aerialbots remains the same as it has been since you were admitted into their Gestalt. Your position in the team is not at any risk."

Wildrider blinked in confusion. Optimus Prime wasn't sure because he really didn't know him, but he thought he saw a mixture of relief and pain in those lost optics. Wildrider may have been insane, but he also appeared to be very sensitive.

"You mean… they didn't kick me out?"

"No, Wildrider, they didn't. As a matter of fact, the Aerialbots are outside the Repair Bay, waiting for news about you."

Hope crossed Wildrider's face as his legs moved faster than his brain module and started to take him towards the door, only to find Optimus standing in his way. It was only then when Wildrider seemed to realize who he had been talking to.

"Uh… do we have to fight? 'Cause the boss said I shouldn't pick more fights with Autobots."

Optimus looked at him with interest. "Did you usually pick fights with Megatron, Wildrider?"

The ex-Stunticon laughed. "You're kidding, right? Frag no! Only Starscream messes with Megatron, and the Combaticons once… but no one else, nope. If the boss has a heavy hand, Megatron has it even worse."

It was clear that, despite understanding that he didn't belong to the Stunticon Gestalt anymore, Wildrider would use his former team to relate to everything that surrounded him. The way he had called both Silverbolt and Motormaster "boss" was just a small proof of it.

"Not fighting with your Supreme Commander is the only similitude you will find in your new life here, Wildrider. I am, as I suppose you've already understood, your leader."

Wildrider's face went blank for a moment. "Nope, you're not. You're like the boss of the Autobots…"

"I was appointed commanding officer of the Autobot army, and that includes the Aerialbots, your team."

Wildrider burst into laughter. "Ha! Yeah, the link says I'm an Aerialbot now."

"Which means you are an Autobot as well."

"Nono!" Wildrider shook his head frantically. "I hate the Autobots and all they stand for."

That was exactly what Optimus was expecting to hear, and he wasn't precisely displeased. Wildrider had spoken words embedded into his programming, words that he clearly didn't feel or understand.

"And what is it, Wildrider, that you hate so much? What are we Autobots and what we stand for? Please tell me."

Wildrider opened his mouth with decision but for a moment he seemed taken aback. When he finally spoke, the spikes beside his head had lowered a little. "Well, all that boring stuff, you know… All that goody-goody thingo, and the skirts and the—"

"Do you even know what we fight for, Wildrider?"

"Yeah, to stop Megatron."

"To stop Megatron from what?"

Wildrider scratched his head. "Gah! I never got to read those files Motormaster said we should read… they didn't have any drawings. But it has to do with his revolution, you know? When you had the Decepticons enslaved and slag?"

Optimus Prime sat on the chair and signaled Wildrider to the berth.

"Are we going to 'face now?" Wildrider said, looking from the berth to his own aft. "But I was saving myself for Thundercracker…"

"Even though I admit that the ancient Autobot Council could hardly be called fair, things were not as Megatron told you," Optimus said, choosing to ignore Wildrider's comment. "The ways of our elders were mistaken, but Megatron's are even worse. Our fight, Wildrider, is for freedom. Such is what the Autobots believe in. Now tell me, do you hate freedom?"

Wildrider frowned and rubbed his chin, looking confused. "Mm, no… I like to drive wherever I want to."

"Then you will agree with me that such is your right, as it is the right of every other sentient being."

"Well yeah. I mean, if you have wheels, what's the point of not using them?"

"What would happen if others forbid you to use them? Do you consider that fair, Wildrider? Think carefully."

Probation had officially started, and even though Optimus was convinced that Wildrider could be turned into a real Autobot, he needed some proof of the existence of goodness inside his spark.

"I guess not…"

Optimus smiled, relieved. "Now what happens if others are not only trying to take away your right to drive, but every part of your freedom?"

"Let'em try. I would slag them all."

"Our fight is for your rights, and those of every sentient being. That's what we Autobots stand for, that's what you said you hate. Do you still hate it?"

Wildrider folded his arms across his chest, for once seeming focused enough to actually consider Optimus' words.

"Dunno… that's not how Megatron said it…"

Optimus stood up. "I could tell you many things about Megatron, but I won't try to gain your trust by speaking the truth about my enemy. You know him, perhaps not for a long time, but enough to realize how cruel and manipulative he is. I'm here to make you an offer, Wildrider, one that can give new meaning and value to your life."

"I don't know… You're not really my type, you know?" Wildrider said, giggling.

It was very good that Optimus had a great deal of patience bestowed by his personality component. "I'm aware of your situation. I know that your Combiner programming was altered and that you now belong to the Aerialbot Gestalt, a team you were forced to fight as an enemy since your origins."

The word _enemy _wiped the smile from Wildrider's face, renewing Optimus' hopes once again. Wildrider was insane, but he understood. And, more importantly, he felt.

"From brothers, we Cybertronians became enemies. The hate between our factions is millenary, but yet I'm here welcoming you not only to the Aerialbot team, but to the Autobot team as well."

Wildrider stepped back, almost tripping against the life-support machine. "But I'm a Decepticon," he said, pointing toward the purple insignia on his chest.

"You were created as a Decepticon, but the final decision is yours to make. I'm not going to lie to you, Wildrider, or threaten you as I'm sure Megatron did. The Aerialbots are Autobots, and even though your bond with them gives me every right to appoint you my subordinate, I'm giving you the right to choose."

"Choose?"

Somehow Optimus knew that Wildrider had no experience with that word whatsoever. "Choose your allegiance, choose your destiny, choose a place to belong. An accident made you an Aerialbot, but what happens to your life from now on is your decision only. I know that your way is not one of evil. Even when you were a Decepticon your actions were guided by irresponsibility, not malice. What I'm offering you now is the opportunity to acknowledge the side of you that remains unexplored, the side of a free Cybertronian. As an Aerialbot, and an Autobot, freedom is your right, just as it is your obligation to protect the freedom of others."

Wildrider kept staring at his Decepticon insignia. His face looked strangely serene, a clear signal that he was thinking, perhaps as seriously as he had never done before in his life. Maybe there was hope for his sanity as well, not only for his spark. Optimus was convinced that whatever frantic and violent life Wildrider had been forced to live so far had done nothing but increasing his insanity. That was another change that could only benefit him.

Finally, a nervous tic on his right optic returned Wildrider to the current moment. His mouth twisted in an ironic smile when he looked at Optimus again.

"So, I'd be like a hero?"

"You will be whatever you want to be, the choice yours for the first time in your life. If your intentions are fair, you will find heroism meaningless compared to what you can achieve."

Wildrider's silence made clear that he was not used to that kind of processor activity. Optimus nodded to him and took one step back. "I understand that you will need time and space to consider my offer. Whether you decide to make this base your home or not, please consider yourself welcome. The Aerialbots are your team and will assist you in whatever you need, but don't hesitate to look for me if you require advice."

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders, but his gesture failed in being disdainful. Optimus knew that he had ignited something inside that processor, and he was more determined than ever to save it not only from insanity, but from evil.

Still, he knew it was too early to call that a victory. He opened his commlink and notified Silverbolt that their new teammate was ready to reunite with his team.

* * *

Prowl typed his response on the keyboard without any hurry. Ancient Cybertronian characters, known only by a handful of robots, were displayed on the screen. Precautions had been taken; not only the use of an almost dead language, but the securely encrypted frequency he was using assured the privacy of the communication.

The blue light of the screen bathed the right side of his face gently, his quiet countenance not betraying the discomfort he felt. But revealing himself was the last of his preoccupations; he knew that, at the other side of the frequency, he had nothing to hide. It was hard when his intentions were as clear as his method blurry.

The sound of strong, hurried steps outside his quarters made him end the communication earlier than he would have wanted. But, then again, formalities were not required. Once again without any hurry, he typed one last ancient character before the blue light shut off, his face once again returning to the partial darkness of his room.

He stood up just as the door was opening. The identity of his visitor didn't surprise him. He had anticipated it; actually, he was expecting him.

"Slingshot," he said, rather tiredly. The conversation was necessary to the Aerialbot, but futile to him.

Prowl had anticipated the punch as well, but the fact that it managed to lift him from the floor managed to surprise him. He saw the ceiling of his quarters and the back wall before hearing the sonorous thud of his back hitting his floor. But he barely gave any attention to what his sensors could perceive. His processor was flooding with activity, all detonated by his pain receptors.

"Don't you ever, _ever_, tangle me in your web again, did ya hear?"

That was all Slingshot said before storming out of the room as abruptly as he had arrived. Prowl sat up laboriously and grabbed the nearby chair for support, his free hand assessing the damage to his face. For once, he didn't even think about the serious discipline violation Slingshot just had committed. The Aerialbot's fury, after all, was something that Prowl had anticipated too.

_To be continued._

* * *

_I never considered Wildrider evil, but rather irresponsible and impulsive. Had he been created on the other side of the insignia, he would have been a very sui generis Autobot. But well, it seems like he will have his chance._

_You may remember the G1 episode 'War dawn', in which the Aerialbots travelled to the past of Cybertron. Prowl made a little ironic reference to that event. And Prowl attempting humour? Yeah, weird… but maybe because he has his own agenda, as you could see. And do any of you guys remember how Springer punched Prowl in the IDW Universe for a similar reason? Yeah, also in there Prowl had it coming.  
_

_Update coming soon. I take it you guys want to know what happened to Air Raid…? Please review if you liked :o)_


	22. Evasive maneuvers

_It's been a while since I updated this story. I'm really sorry for the delay, but I've been busier than ever with work and personal issues. All good, fortunately._

_Anyway, here you have this update. Thanks a lot to iratepirate for beta reading and for her always helpful inspiration._

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**Evasive maneuvers **

"… grille …"

Air Raid hadn't been arrogant, but realistic, the first time he admitted to himself that he was the most skilled flier amongst the Aerialbots. Okay, maybe Skydive was able to pull almost impossible maneuvers, and Silverbolt's calculated flight patterns prevented even the remotest possibility of collision, but Air Raid was the best fighter. He was daring and he was fast, not to mention that fear had never been part of his personality component. He had always been eager for challenges, making no goal impossible for him to achieve. He had been, after all, the only Aerialbot able to give Starscream a challenge worthy of his skills.

"Earth to Air Raid. Could you pass me the grille, please?"

This time, he heard the voice below. It wasn't as high pitched as it had been just a few years ago. Air Raid had never been able to understand how humans changed so much in such short lapses of time. Not only his voice, but Prince Jamal's height had also changed, not to mention that now he had a line of facial hair around his chin, another remark on his age.

"Ah… sorry," he said, carefully grabbing the requested object and placing it beside his human friend.

"Thanks," the young man said as he rummaged through the Rolls Royce's engine. Air Raid knew that the prince had humans under his command that would take care of fixing his ground vehicles, but the monarch had always liked to handle those things by himself.

Air Raid had never been fond of humans, but after years of joining Skydive and Slingshot on their visits to the Middle East, he had also developed a close friendship with the prince. That was the only reason why he had followed that flight path when he had left his old teammates behind. He had had nowhere else to go. Well, he had actually… but he wasn't ready to head there just yet. Hopefully he would never be.

He had been naïve enough – or perhaps the word was stupid – to think that he could stay some time with the prince, but that would be a problem next time Slingshot and Skydive came to visit.

"Air Raid?"

He looked downwards and found a puzzled expression on the small face.

"Yeah?"

"I asked you if you guys will come to my wedding next week. Remember I told you about it months ago?"

Air Raid remembered. Even then, when his head hadn't been troubled with countless contradictory feelings, he had thought that there was no point in bonding with one teammate for life if it could be done with four instead.

"I'm sure Skydive and Slingshot will come," he said, rotating a hydraulic jack absent-mindedly between his fingers.

"What about you?"

_I won't be able to make it. I will be too busy being a Stunticon by then._

"I'll do my best to be here."

Four men entered the square carrying a rounded container. Air Raid was used to the high quality oil that the prince always offered his Cybertronian guests, so he took it and thanked the men with a nod of his head.

Jamal watched his servants leave and stood up, cleaning his hands on a rag stained with motor oil.

"Alright _effendi_, now that it's obvious that I won't get anywhere with this piece of junk today, let's talk."

Air Raid gave his friend a puzzled look. He hadn't wanted anything but some uncomplicated company when he had set out for Prince Jamal's castle. But once again he had been naïve, expecting not to call attention to his predicament despite showing up alone, with one less optic and with the words _slagged beyond hope _splattered all across his face.

Still, he decided to play the fool. "What do you mean?" he said, taking a sip from his container.

"Aside from the fact that you have a patch over your eye and that it seems that someone gave you a good beating, I'd say that something's troubling you. Is everything okay?"

Air Raid kept his lip components on the edge of the container, wishing for a moment that it was high grade running through his fuel lines instead of oil.

"Is everything okay…" the prince asked again, "with the other Aerialbots?"

_Great insight, kid. _Jamal was no fool, and of course he must have noticed that it was the first time that one of his Cybertronian friends had arrived alone.

"I'm not an Aerialbot anymore," he said, vomiting the words out as if by doing so he could get rid of the unpleasant feelings.

Now the prince had completely forgotten about his old Rolls Royce. "Excuse me?"

Air Raid sighed and placed his container on the ground. "Something happened inside the Gestalt bond… We told you about the programming that makes us a team, right? Well, according to that programming I'm not an Aerialbot anymore."

Jamal quirked one eye brow before running his organic optics over Air Raid's frame, finding the wings and insignia that should have been able to speak by themselves. Air Raid wasn't expecting a human being to understand. Frag, not even a non-Combiner Cybertronian would have been able to do it.

"Please forgive my ignorance, _effendi_, but you still look very Aerialbot to me… What did this thing in your programming do, exactly?"

"It removed me from the Aerialbot Gestalt. I can't merge with Slingshot and the others anymore… And not only that; it also made me part of another combiner team."

"Oh," Jamal said. "I didn't know that was even possible."

_That makes two of us._

"But then again, you guys are robots. You have programming, as you said." Puzzlement was replaced by a look of assurance on the young organic face. "I'm going to assume that your attempts to return to your team have not worked – otherwise you wouldn't be here. But every action has a reaction, and this process must have some way to be reversed. In the meantime, I don't think being with another team has to be so bad. You Autobots are very tight, after all. Who you did you end up merged with? The Protectobots?"

Air Raid couldn't help but smile. If only that had been the case… although he was sure he wouldn't have been able to stand the Protectobots' passivity.

Jamal seemed to notice that Air Raid was keeping an important part of his dilemma hidden. The silence that followed had everything on its side to be uncomfortable, but it was more revealing than anything else.

Air Raid couldn't look at his friend's eyes when he finally spoke. "I may have to do things soon, Jamal, things that I usually don't do."

The next silence was entirely the responsibility of the prince. When he finally moved, Air Raid had almost forgotten that the human was there.

"Can you walk with me, _effendi_?"

Air Raid followed the slow pace of his friend until they crossed the tall arch that headed toward the main hall. It had been four years since the prince had reformatted his castle to fit the height of his best – and metallic – friends.

They stopped before a painting on the wall.

"My first wife," the prince said emotionlessly. "As you know, I had to marry her for diplomatic reasons. I was seventeen years old, with a nation to rebuild and a head full of dreams. It's needless to say that it didn't work. We never got to be more than what we were the day of our wedding, two strangers."

Air Raid remembered that first bonding of the prince with a human of another country. Silverbolt had said it was supposed to create a powerful alliance between both governments, but in the end it had ended up in a legal process called divorce. Now that he thought about it, that was precisely what he had just done with his former teammates: divorced them. Only that from brothers, they had become strangers.

"I really don't know anything about your gestalt programming," Jamal said, "but I know about uniting your life with someone else's because that's what everybody expects of you to do. It may work if you keep up the appearances, but most likely it will not. If you were forced to be part of another team, I'd say you have a word to say on the matter. How could you remain beside someone if you don't have affinity with them?"

Four faces came to his processor, but not the ones that were on Air Raid's recently updated 'bad' list. It was the faces of his enemies… _teammates_, the Stunticons… He was supposed to hate them.

He had hated them once, he had been built to fight them, and that's exactly what he had done until the moment he became one with them.

"So…" he heard Jamal's voice cornering him against the wall he had refused to face himself. "Is that the deal with these new teammates of yours?"

He replied not because he had been asked a question, but because he needed the answer himself. "I… guess I have some things in common with them."

Simple words, but such a revelation at the same time. The Stunticons lived for speed and excitement, as did he … Maybe fate hadn't been just fooling around when it had thrown him into that team of lunatics. He had been called insane more often than any of his former teammates after all, even Slingshot himself.

Jamal smiled at him. "See? Then maybe things are not so bad, are they? I messed up my first marriage, but my ex wife and I realized that we worked better as political allies than husband and wife. As for this second marriage, I'm doing it because I want to, not because I have to."

Yeah, but Jamal's new wife was not a pack of four insane Decepticons.

"I'm just rambling here, Air Raid, I'm sorry. I don't know anything about your programming and the relationship you have with your brothers now that you say that you don't belong to their team anymore… I'm only saying that they don't have to be your enemies."

"Enemies?" Air Raid said with a start. "I never said that!"

"Apologies, _effendi_, but every time I mentioned the Aerialbots you grimaced… You're doing it right now."

Air Raid turned aside, his face not hiding from the human but from his own shame. Frag, it was true. When he had seen his brothers protecting Wildrider that was precisely what he had felt: hate. Calling it jealousy and ire had been a simple way to fool himself; he had hated the Aerialbots, he had hated them as enemies.

"I think it's time for me to go home," he said, more to himself than to the prince.

"Are you going back to the Aerialbots?"

The _NO! _pumped hard in his fuel line, but he didn't pronounce it. He would never go back to the Aerialbots, he knew that now. But that didn't mean that he couldn't play with his fate a little bit more. After all, going in opposite directions had always been his thing.

* * *

First times, first times…

Air Raid remembered the first time he had acknowledged life. Before everything else, it had been his teammates, additional limbs of an ultimate body, parts of himself and vortexes of a Universe in which only their common conscience existed. They were Superion, and Superion was them.

He was Superion.

Superion's left leg.

He hadn't known what the gestalt bond was back then, but he had felt it, as instinctively as he would have recognized pain and pleasure.

That was a first meant to remain in his memory, the one that had given him identity even before he realized that he had no decision on the matter.

Or at least that was what he had thought.

Sand and water spread through his optic, swept up by the same wind that was taking his most precious memory away. It would stay in his data banks, but he wouldn't acknowledge it anymore. Wasn't that the same thing as oblivion?

Air Raid stretched his hand, his fingers forming a fist beneath the sand, the foam still licking his fuselage.

First times, first times…

Now that was a first he would always remember.

For the first time in his life, he had crashed.

He hadn't been brought down by an enemy. He hadn't had a technical failure.

He had been brought down by his own ineptitude.

A guttural sound sneaked through his vocalizer. Half snarl, half laugh. He had been a majestic flier ever since creation, and yet his first crash had been all his doing.

He had left Prince Jamal's castle less than an hour ago, knowing for certain that he couldn't stay there anymore, but also feeling more uneasy than ever about his destination.

He had tried to defy it, taking an opposite flight path just to see what happened, just to see how far he could stretch the gestalt bond. It turned out that distance was not the answer. The bond would never break; escaping would only emphasize his pain and loneliness. There was no wonder why his systems had failed, ending up in that infamous first crash. It was such a shame that it hadn't been fatal.

He had been foolish; as blindly as he flew, there was a part of him that knew that his own will had nothing to do with his flight course. The silent call had been made, the nexus that tied him to his teammates even stronger than the one that tied him to his spark. He wouldn't be able to stay away from Menasor for long.

And then he had crashed, when his frame had followed his mind and had refused to continue on its own. He was part of a Gestalt, he would never be able to fly solo. For the first time in his life, Air Raid realized how unfair Gestalt technology was; tying him to teammates he hadn't chosen, destroying him if he dared to get away from them…

Air Raid sat, his lower servos burying further beneath the wet sand. He had never imagined being anything else but a Gestalt robot, but the new thought flirted with his processor without any prudence: maybe, just maybe, non-Combiner Cybertronians were happier. They were able to be on their own. Loneliness couldn't kill them.

Nevertheless, happiness was not in his mind when he finally got up and took to the sky again. His frame responded accordingly, maybe because it has realized that, this time, Air Raid was following his destiny instead of his will.

It would have been pointless to continue denying what he was, anyway.

_To be continued._

* * *

_You may remember Prince Jamal from the episode 'Aerial Assault'._

_I already wrote next chapter, so expect a really fast update this time :o)_


	23. Let's annihilate these turkeys!

_I promised a fast update, and here you have it. I'm already working on the next ones, so you can be sure that I won't delay much in posting again._

_Many thanks to iratepirate for beta reading :o)_

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**Let's annihilate these turkeys!**

Breakdown didn't know why he was following Drag Strip through the ventilation tunnels. Well, maybe he did. Dead End had been particularly antisocial that day, and had made it clear – subtly, but clear – that he didn't want any kind of company, especially Breakdown's company. Dead End had never said anything about it, but Breakdown was sure that his teammate blamed him for the whole Wildrider/Air Raid mess. It couldn't be otherwise; everybody blamed him, _he _blamed himself. If he hadn't lied to Motormaster about the incident involving Megatron's throne, then Motormaster wouldn't have beaten Wildrider so brutally, and therefore Wildrider wouldn't have been distracted and defenseless when that sphere of energy had hit him, and thus the programming glitch would have never happened…

_Clang!_

Breakdown instinctively reached out, closing his arms around Drag Strip's shoulders in order to avoid falling. He didn't let go when he recovered his balance. It was dark and he had the sharp feeling that an army of small, red eyes were watching from behind. Only the physical proximity of a teammate could give him some sense of security in moments like that, otherwise his paranoia would go mad.

"Why did you stop?" he asked.

Breakdown could see the reflection of his teammate's optical visor moving from the left tunnel to the right one. Fortunately, Drag Strip didn't disengage from Breakdown's hug.

"Aren't you sure which way to go?" Breakdown asked again when he didn't get response.

"Don't be a fool," Drag Strip replied immediately. "I'm just deciding which tunnel is the shortest way to the Refueling Room."

The shortest way was the corridor the Stunticons always took, in the old days, when they could refuel and walk through the halls of the Nemesis without getting roughed up.

"We can go back if you're not sure."

Breakdown knew he shouldn't have said that, but he was feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. As expected, Drag Strip turned around, his movement rather slow due to the pressure of Breakdown's arms, now around his neck.

"When was the last time you refueled, Breakdown?"

"Uh…"

"That's exactly my point."

"But… our energy levels have not reached an alarming level yet. Maybe we can wait a little bit longer. Motormaster will be released from the medbay any moment—"

"I don't need Motormaster to retrieve my Energon rations, and neither do you!" Drag Strip snapped, freeing himself from Breakdown's arms. "Besides, have you realized what he will do if he finds out that the other Decepticons are using us to mop the floor with?"

That brought an immediate mental picture of Motormaster doing much worse than just using Breakdown's head for cleaning purposes.

Drag Strip shook his head. "Look, forget about Motormaster. Who cares about him? This is about us, about our pride as a team. Are you going to sit on your aft as slaggers like the Coneheads and the Triplechangers bully us and even dictate at what time we are allowed to lubricate our valves?"

"No, but…"

"Then leave everything to me," Drag Strip said, turning to the right tunnel and pointing towards it. "This way."

Breakdown wasn't sure about joining Drag Strip on his quest to get their Energon rations anymore, but he disliked darkness too much to return to their quarters by himself. Besides, Drag Strip had the blueprints of the Nemesis ventilation shafts, not him.

"Oh, for the love of…" Drag Strip said, doing that thing in which his optical visor seemed to roll. But he also seemed to notice that Breakdown was being circled by a serious attack of paranoia, because he took his hand and squeezed it. "I'll take care of this, okay?"

Breakdown nodded. Drag Strip could be an annoying aft most of the time, but he also knew how to make him feel safe.

* * *

"This is not the way to the Refueling Room," Breakdown said fifteen minutes later. They were still inside the ventilation system of the base, but he could recognize the corridor outside through the small shaft on the wall.

"I know," Drag Strip said. "I'm taking a little detour on purpose. I don't want everybody to see that we had to sneak through the tunnels to get there."

"Because of our… team pride?"

"Yeah."

"Or is it because of Skywarp? You've been avoiding him since we got back to the base."

"I'm not avoiding anyone!" Drag Strip cast him an angry look. "Okay, we're here. Stay behind me and watch my back."

Breakdown liked that. It was always easier to watch his teammates' backs than to have them staring at him. But then again, who would watch _his_ back if somebody attacked him – other than his attacker, of course?

Drag Strip got rid of the ventilation grille with a hard kick and jumped into the corridor, which fortunately was clear. Despite the fact that his survival instinct was shaking its head in frantic defiance, Breakdown followed.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…"

"Do you want to starve 'til deactivation?" Drag Strip spat. "Besides, no one's here, see?"

Yeah, there was nobody in that corridor, but the Refueling Room would be full of Decepticons eager to fall on the weakened Stunticons like hungry predators. Breakdown wished Dead End was there, although, to be blatantly honest, he would have preferred Motormaster as an escort. He didn't dare think about the fifth member of their group, even less to decide which name fitted the position better, as much as his absence was making a mess of the Gestalt.

Breakdown thought about protesting against Drag Strip's idea one more time, but he knew his teammate had a limit when tolerating his paranoia. So he tagged along, certain that they were entering a pit full of scraplets ready to devour them.

And that's exactly what the hundreds of eyes were as soon as the two Stunticons placed a foot in the Refueling Room – well, maybe not hundreds, but it felt like that. Narrow gazes, twisted smirks, fists testing their joints, weapons clicking… Breakdown would have felt safer walking amongst an army of Autobots.

However, the horde didn't fall on them, not yet. Drag Strip got to the Energon dispenser without opposition, even though he was walking as if he owned the place. Breakdown kept his optics fixed on his teammate's back, longing for the comfort of his own quarters, his berth in particular. He was so uneasy that he even forgot about his aching fuel tanks.

Drag Strip seemed not to notice the optics staring at him. He entered his personal code on the dispenser without any hurry and waited patiently for the three cubes to be filled, whilst Breakdown realized that he had never noticed how shiny the floor was.

But, of course, expecting to get back to their quarters unscathed had been a foolish hope. As soon as the last drop of Energon fell, a hand positioned itself on Breakdown's shoulder and squeezed hard, making the joint creak.

He really didn't want to, but Breakdown turned around. More than feeling Ramjet's glare meeting his, he felt each and every optic of the other Decepticons in the room. Everybody was watching, and it was not excessive to think that the new status of the Stunticons within the army was about to be defined.

"I think I told you glitches there would be a toll to pay if you ever wanted to refuel again."

Breakdown chose to avoid eye contact with any of the three Coneheads and tried to think about possible battle strategies. Maybe he could take Ramjet by surprise. If Drag Strip did the same with Thrust, then they both could bring down Dirge and regain some respect. But if any of the other Decepticons decided to intervene…

"And I heard you the first time. Here you go," Drag Strip said before Breakdown could do anything, handling Ramjet one of the cubes.

Breakdown cast a discreet, but confused look to his teammate. Drag Strip, submitting to Ramjet just like that? It was probably the best thing to do. If they engaged with the Coneheads, the Energon would get spilled and the Stunticons would end up with their fuel tanks empty anyway. But now all the Decepticons had witnessed the admission of the Stunticons' inferiority… Things would only spiral down after that.

Ramjet took the cube and smirked. "Attaboy, Drag. But now that I think about it, one cube is a very cheap price to pay for the generosity of allowing your team of losers to refuel."

Breakdown prepared for the yelling, the insults and a certain Gravito-gun blowing the Refueling Room to pieces.

But nothing happened. Drag Strip remained motionless for a moment before handling Dirge a second cube.

"Good, good," Ramjet approved, bringing his cube to his lip components. "Now you and your boyfriend are free to go, as long as you ask properly, of course."

Breakdown didn't mind being called Drag Strip's boyfriend. They were teammates, after all, their bond tighter and far more intimate than any interface relationship, but he certainly didn't like the way Ramjet was humiliating them.

"_Can I go, Sir?" _Ramjet mocked. "Those are your lines. Say them!"

Something was getting very hot inside Breakdown's head, his fists tightening so much that he scraped the metal layers of his the palm of his hands. Ramjet was going too far. He should shut up…

He hadn't really paid attention to the other Decepticons' muffled laughter, but he noticed silence the moment it took over. It seemed like everybody was very interested in seeing Drag Strip's reaction.

"Can I go…?" Drag Strip started to say, his head bowed.

Ramjet smirked, tasting both the Energon and the victory. At that moment, Drag Strip raised his gaze and met the Conehead leader's optics.

"…slag sucker?" Drag Strip finished his sentence, turning his submissive expression into one of triumph.

Breakdown knew that expression. _Oh scrap…_

Breakdown didn't even have time to check the status of his weapons. Ramjet had barely started to raise a fist against Drag Strip when his mid section exploded, exposing some internals and starting to spark. Dirge, who had already emptied half of his cube, followed the same fate.

Everything happened so fast that nobody had time to react. Nobody but Drag Strip, who threw the remaining cube to his left and hit Blitzwing right in the face. The Energon exploded as Breakdown had never seen before, in a chaos of colours and fire, also damaging one of the Reflector triplets and Swindle, who happened to be sitting close by.

Next thing Breakdown knew, Drag Strip was taking his hand again, yanking him so hard that he almost dislocated his arm.

"What did you do?" Breakdown asked frantically in the middle of his transformation sequence.

Drag Strip had transformed too. "You could say I spiked the Energon."

"What…? How?" Breakdown sped up as much as he could, considering the narrow dimensions of the corridor.

"As soon as I got it from the dispenser. Mixmaster fixed me this special formula and I poured it—"

"Wait! When did you talk to Mixmaster? And why didn't you tell me anything about this?"

"Would you have come, if I'd told you? I needed you to watch my back, okay? Dead End wouldn't have cared to help me, and I needed to show everybody that we won't be anyone's glitches!"

Breakdown swerved agilely to avoid a missile that made a big hole in the wall. "Yeah, but now half the base is on our tail!"

"Well, they can't exactly fly in here, can they?"

Breakdown checked his force field, just to be sure. He knew he could take several hits before actually being damaged, but he also knew there was a limit. It was very unlikely that they could outrun their pursuers, even with the advantage of the Stunticons' ground modes in small spaces.

"So what now?" he asked.

Drag Strip took a drastic turn at an intersection, heading towards the lower side of the base. "What do you mean?"

"Where are we going? What are we doing to do now?"

Give it to Drag Strip to think about actions, but not consequences.

Breakdown sighed. "Your plan ends here, right?"

"Breakdown, I did what it had to be done! We may have to deal with some grudges for a while, but at least nobody will step on us anymore."

"Alright."

"Besides, if you didn't like it, you should have come up with something yourself!"

"I said it was alright!"

They were yelling, but mostly because of the noise of the explosions behind them, or at least that's what Breakdown wanted to think.

He commed Dead End to inform him about the situation. He doubted that his favorite teammate would really care about the new turn of events, but maybe for the sake of his finish he would go into motion.

Not for the first time in the last few days, Breakdown really wished that Motormaster was there.

And not just him.

_To be continued._

* * *

_I guess some Decepticons would love to have a Stunticon head hanging on their walls._

_Please review if you liked :o)_


	24. As I 'preducted'

_It's been a busy couple of weeks for me, so let me start by apologizing for not updating as frequently as I would have liked to. I'm currently making an effort to organize my time better, so please be patient with me. I assure you that, no matter how frantic my work and real life has gotten lately, I will find time to update my fics as frequently as I can._

_That said, I want to thank all of you for your support. You're a wonderful group of readers :o)_

_Gratitude goes also to iratepirate, beta reader and owner of the seven seas._

* * *

**Chapter 24**

**As I **_**preducted**_

"So, the Aerialbot returned," Starscream stated the obvious as Megatron stared at the main screen of his computer terminal. "Disappointing, really disappointing. I had expected that the Autobots would correct this problem for us… I suppose I owe you ten thousand Energon credits."

The white dot blinked on the radar, responding instead of Megatron. Obviously, the last thing on the tyrant's mind was the bet he had made with Starscream just one solar cycle ago.

"An Autobot entering our base of his own free will… I never thought I'd see the day. And not only that, but we're allowing him to do so. There are firsts for everything, Megatron, but this has to be one of the most degrading. Fortunately, it happened under your command, not mine."

Megatron didn't detach his gaze from the blinking dot. Things were happening just as he had predicted, but that didn't mean he felt satisfied. "Command is one of the many things you'll never have, Starscream."

"Not whilst you live, you may want to add," Starscream said, getting up lazily from Megatron's berth. He walked toward the computer terminal, where the images from twenty different surveillance cameras circled the radar on the main screen.

"So it begins," Starscream went on, watching Drag Strip and Breakdown escaping at top speed from the Refueling Room. "Are you going to brag now and tell me you had anticipated this? I have to admit, leader, you've always had perfect timing."

Megatron smirked. "I know my soldiers, buffoon, and thus I can predict their reactions. My Stunticons are proud. It was just a matter of time before they did something to prove themselves to their Decepticon brethren."

"Prove themselves being synonymous of having the Coneheads, the Triplechangers and now the Combaticons on their tail? Yes, very _prideful_ of them I'd say… and quite stupid as well. There's no doubt that they are _your _Stunticons, indeed. I really hope you're done experimenting with the 'Building Gestalts for dummies' manual, Megatron. You and science are a bad combination."

"Is that jealously I detect, Starscream? Do you think I don't realize you came to the idea of reactivating the Combaticons only because I built the Stunticons without your assistance?"

"Don't forget the fact that you had banished me…" Starscream grumbled, not really wanting to continue that part of the conversation due to the motives behind said exile. "But I suppose you feel very proud of your children. Look at them, fleeing like scared Autobots. It's such a shame that your abominations didn't inherit the courage of their powerful creator. I'm sure you would have faced your enemies in their situation, wouldn't you, oh brave leader?"

Indeed, Drag Strip and Breakdown continued their frantic escape through the corridors, outrunning their pursuers for the time being.

"Drag Strip's methods may be impulsive, but his actions are guided by his loyalty to his team, a concept you will never grasp."

Starscream would have grimaced, but his neural net was still under the pleasant influence of his tingling circuits following overload. "We have very different ideas about loyalty, Megatron. Mine, for example, have nothing to do with Autobots joining our army."

Starscream smirked when he noticed the hardness returning to Megatron's face.

"This Autobot… You have fought him. What would you say about his skills?"

"He's not that bad," Starscream said, trying to hide his satisfaction at actually being asked his opinion by Megatron. "Not the best flier amongst the Aerialbots, but definitely the most skilled fighter. Although, if your Stunticon glitches were going to add an Aerialbot to their ranks anyway, they should have chosen Skydive instead. Now that's a unit I could turn into a decent flier."

"So, not a bad addition to our ranks," Megatron said, completely ignoring Starscream's last remark.

The Seeker turned the seat beside Megatron's around and sat with a growl, leaning his arms and chin on the back of the chair. "_Our _ranks? You seem to forget that I'll be the one carrying this curse! What the slag am I supposed to do with an Autobot in my squad?"

Megatron shot an amused look at his Second in Command. "Your squad, Starscream? This Autobot is a Stunticon now."

"He's a flier. He may be a Stunticon by programming, but he's a flier by creation. Hanging out with a bunch of ground-pounders is nothing any winged Cybertronian would want to do… not even an Autobot."

"As always, you overestimate your useless appendages," Megatron laughed. "See the Gestalt programming in action, you fool, and take back your words. This Autobot is a Stunticon now and he'll remain by the side of his team, no matter how much he hates them."

Starscream focused his attention on the white dot again, moving closer to the Nemesis with each blink. He had spent a large amount of time studying the young Autobot fliers, and he had realized very quickly that Air Raid was reckless and immature; perhaps the Combiner programming had been clever when inserting him into the Stunticon Gestalt. "Average speed, awkward maneuverability... nothing that impresses me. And yet he may make it in time to assist his… um, teammates. I suppose I have no clearance to give him a proper welcoming party…"

"Not now, not ever," Megatron said firmly. "Interfere in the adjustment of the Stunticons and I'll interfere with your life span. If the pathetic imitation of a processor you have in your head works, understand once and for all that this Autobot is out of your reach, just like any other Stunticon."

Now not even his pleased neural net could prevent Starscream from grimacing. Like all Decepticons, he had had unpleasant encounters with the Stunticons, and every time he had ended up remembering that it wasn't a good idea to mess with an over-protective, eighteen-wheeled brute with a very bad temper, a very sharp sword, and massive strength behind his fists. As for the other Stunticons, Starscream had never considered them anything more than different pieces of the same terrestrial junk.

"The Autobot may be a Stunticon now, but is he a Decepticon? That's a card that you forgot to consider in your scheme, Megatron. Or are you naïve enough to think that he will pledge you loyalty just because of your pretty face? The Aerialbots have always been rebels amongst the Autobots, but maybe your rusted processor will allow you to remember how they absolutely rejected our ways."

"You disappoint me, Starscream," Megatron snarled. "Haven't I taught you enough to realize that fear is the only motor behind a soldier's loyalty? I know this Autobot will never kneel before me, but I also know that he will follow my orders as any of my Decepticons would do. Motormaster will see to that."

The mention of the name he had learned to hate made Starscream's face twist into a grimace again. "Yes, your prodigal son…" Every time he saw the glimpse of pride in Megatron's eyes when he mentioned his creation, Starscream felt it: jealously, as Megatron had correctly pointed out. When was the last time that Megatron had had that look in his optics when addressing him? Starscream had been loyal too, a long time ago; the most loyal amongst the Decepticons… He had been the one to kneel before his leader to pledge his undying devotion… and it hadn't been him who had broken the deal.

Starscream ended his moment of weakness with a disdainful snort. His position within the army was certainly not going to be favoured by the inclusion of an enemy in a team of what he considered obstacles on his rise to absolute power, but he could always try to find an advantage. Or amusement, as the current situation suggested.

"In the meantime, and according to your orders, open doors it is… May I?" he said, leaning towards Megatron and daring to put his hands on the computer terminal.

Megatron didn't say anything, which was a crystal clear affirmative answer for Starscream. Megatron was generally less keen on violence after interfacing, although in this case Starscream was sure that his leader had too many other things on his mind to care about further intrusions on his personal space.

Starscream activated the launching tower and the Nemesis opened to receive its Autobot acquaintance, now visible on the cameras. Air Raid entered without hesitating, whether following the call of his Gestalt or accepting his defeat, it made no difference. Despite his reluctance toward the entire situation, Starscream was very curious to see what was about to happen.

"See his left plating," Starscream said, noticing what others may have ignored. "This Autobot has crashed."

"Gestalt robots are built to remain together. Mere solar cycles of separation can affect their performance drastically."

Starscream laughed. "I suppose mercy was not in mind when you thought of the perfect way to keep a group of fools bonded against their will – and under your command. Now I see why you insisted on developing the Gestalt technology."

"And that realization only took you a few thousand vorns to compute… such an achievement for your sharp insight, _scientist,_" Megatron mocked as he unfolded his arms to switch the image on the main screen. Once again, Drag Strip and Breakdown starred in their own persecution.

"So much for your terrors of the roads," Starscream said, seeing Breakdown's dented rear bumper and the way one of his tires was threatening to come off. "Is something wrong with this image or are your Stunticons really so slow that they can't even outrun Astrotrain in train mode?"

"The Stunticons' speed was also affected by the lack of their fifth member, a situation that is about to change." Megatron zoomed in on the image of Astrotrain firing another gust of fire towards the mechs that had hurt his partner. "Didn't I tell you to see the Gestalt bond in action, you idiot? See it again, and learn. This is the third time that Breakdown has willingly taken a shot meant for Drag Strip. Is team loyalty so new to your twisted processor that you can't even recognize it when you see it?"

Starscream sneered. "I would rather call it stupidity. Breakdown should see only to his own survival. This kind of pathetic behaviour will only result in his destruction."

"Or maturity," Megatron said, satisfied, when Astrotrain started to shake and collapsed against a wall, certainly affected by Breakdown's engine vibratory pulses. "Warriors are not forged in academies, but through experience in battle."

Low hit. Starscream frowned, proud of his military training. "Or in the gladiatorial pits, you forgot to mention…"

Astrotrain was out of commission, but Vortex, Brawl and Thrust were still in pursuit.

"Two against three," Starscream said. "This will make an interesting encounter once your Aerialbot decides to join the game. What do you say if we make this a little more challenging? After all, your Stunticons are… _proving _themselves."

Megatron's look was full of distrust, yet he allowed Starscream to manipulate the controls again.

"Vortex and Brawl must have informed Onslaught about Swindle becoming collateral damage, and as we both know the Combaticons will be more than eager to participate in anything that resembles Stunticon pounding." As he spoke, Starscream activated another section of surveillance cameras and displayed the image of an anti-aircraft vehicle advancing as fast as his mass allowed him. "Onslaught is heading toward the Refueling Room, certainly to assist Swindle, but he also sent Blast Off to intercept the offenders." The image of the mentioned Combaticon appeared, the shuttle-former not exactly in a hurry to become part of the fray.

Megatron smirked. "You seem to know your former brigade well. It's such a shame that they never displayed that kind of loyalty for you."

Starscream repressed the need to say that the Combaticons followed Megatron only because they were forced to do so, but he decided against it; there was a limit to Megatron's patience, even after interfacing. So he continued pushing buttons on the console.

"Where are you taking them?" Megatron said, watching with indifference as doors and passages opened and closed, every astro-second creating a new maze for prey and hunters to continue their dance through.

"I'm just leading them towards the lower sublevels," Starscream responded, highlighting the Nemesis' blueprints as he continued manipulating the controls of the doors. "I know you wouldn't stop for a moment to consider the damage this fight will bring to our base, but fortunately you have me to prevent your mistakes."

Megatron sneered and recovered the control of his console by smacking the Seeker's arm away. "Your caution is just another face of your cowardice, Starscream. Probable damage to my base has already been considered, but disregarded in favour of higher achievements, such as the final adjustment of the Stunticon Gestalt." Still, he didn't change the course of the chase towards the lower sublevels, where he knew his Decepticons liked to sort out their internal quarrels.

Starscream rubbed the place that Megatron had hit on his arm and looked at the image his leader had just centered on the screen. "I hope you're not expecting this dolt to make a difference," he said, twisting his mouth in contempt at the image of Dead End, not precisely at top speed, arriving from the south side of the base to rendezvous with his teammates. "I have fought furniture more alive than him."

"Perhaps because furniture is the only rival worthy of your skills," Megatron said, opening a series of passages that would lead Dead End straight to the sublevels. "If you'd care to observe, you would recognize a warrior."

"Dead End?" Starscream chuckled. "Now that's a good joke… I knew that interfacing put you in a good mood, but I hadn't realized that it also made you delusional. You should start your own comedy show."

"Allowing your envy to speak again, Starscream?" Megatron said, smirking at the Seeker. "Dead End is the perfect Decepticon. Obedient, respectful, aware of his position in this army and, most importantly, not a fanatic."

Starscream stretched on the chair. "Don't forget apathetic and boring."

"His personality flaws are nothing that worries me. As with the rest of his team, time and experience will allow him to fully exploit his abilities. I have no doubt that my Stunticons will become the most powerful Gestalt team ever built, particularly given they have perfect leadership."

Starscream turned his gaze toward a small image at the bottom of the screen. "Which reminds me… When do you plan to unleash your beast, Megatron? Motormaster's repairs must be complete by now."

Megatron expanded the image of Motormaster lying completely motionless on a repair berth. "Not before the Autobot makes his move. I ordered Scrapper to keep Motormaster in stasis lock, to prevent him from feeling the turmoil inside his gestalt bond."

"And subsequently rescuing his team… I begin to see your point, Megatron. Do you really think that having the Stunticons stand against their enemies without the aid of Motormaster will finally make them become one?"

"No team can exist without good leadership, but neither can it survive without reliable components. Besides, I'm done wasting time and resources waiting for this malfunction to fix itself. It's time to return Menasor to the list of active Decepticons. It's time for its fifth member to complete the merge."

It was logical, but also disgusting; Starscream couldn't help but sneer with contempt. He had to admit – only to himself – that the idea of Gestalt technology had been interesting ever since the beginning, when terms such as "impossible" or "insane" had been used to describe the image of different robots forming another one. Devastator, the prototype, had been a partial failure in terms of speed and coordination, but his strength and endurance also had meant a meaningful advantage in the war, so much that it had forced the Autobots to develop Gestalts of their own.

Now, with the Stunticons, Starscream could see the danger. Dysfunctional and insane as they were, the team made of terrestrial cars was also very powerful and dangerous for their young age, especially because of their blind loyalty to Megatron. The addition of an Autobot flier would only increase the threat the Stunticons posed to Starscream's ambitions. He was going to have to be very careful and intelligent to eradicate that obstacle in his way to achieving the supreme leadership of the Decepticons.

And it was never too early to start producing some harm. Starscream got comfortable on his seat again as he remembered the one piece missing from the puzzle. "What about Wildrider?" he asked maliciously. "Do I have clearance to deal with that treacherous creation of yours, or is he also off limits?"

Starscream couldn't repress the smirk of satisfaction when he saw the hate protruding from his leader's narrowed eyes. There was no doubt that it was humiliating for Megatron to give up to the Autobots an element he had built with his own hands. "You'll deal with Wildrider as you'd do any other Autobot."

Music to Starscream's audio receptors. One less of Megatron's children in the Universe would always mean a better Universe, no matter if the wayward brat was not a Stunticon anymore.

"Your orders will be carried out, great Megatron," the Seeker hissed as he remembered that, when a robot was mutilated, he kept feeling the absent limb for a long time, no matter if it was replaced.

He wondered if it would be the same with Menasor, if – and where – he would feel pain when Starscream killed Wildrider.

On the screen, the pieces had reached their board.

A battle was about to begin.

_To be continued._


	25. Nonsense interrupted

**Chapter 25**

**Nonsense interrupted**

**or Winners do journals**

_The so-called author of this story has been abducted by me, Drag Strip, Stunticon Second in Command and soon to be _real_ leader of the best Gestalt team ever created._

_If you ever want to see the so-called author of this story again, you better not tell anyone about what you're about to read. It's top-secret, confidential, private, whatever you want to call it – and most of all, it's PERFECT. _

_Oh, but if you belong to the FIA, note that I'm ready to return to the Formula One circuit. No, no, no, not only return, but to _conquer_ it._

_But let's get back to what I was explaining._

_Okay, so I keep a personal registry of my experiences, a journal as some of you flesh creatures call it. Now, I won't show you ALL of it – it's not your business, for example, who I've been fraggin' with. That's for me to know and you to envy – envy them, of course._

_So yeah, since all of you fleshbags have slime instead of brain-modules, I'll show you the first entries of my journal, just for you to have an idea how I handle things in there:_

Entry 01:

The sphere was big and glossy, as it had to be to welcome me into life. I would have watched it more carefully, but I was far too distracted with my own reflection on its surface.

I was yellow.

I was shiny.

I was gorgeous.

There's no doubt that I was created a champion. It doesn't happen every day that Megatron, yeah, the Supreme Commander of the Decepticons himself, takes the time to actually build someone and take him all the way to Cybertron to give him sentient life.

He did that for me. Some say that I inherited his winning spirit, although I took it to the next level.

I don't even remember what I said when Megatron told me to declare myself to him. _Declare? _He might be the super leader, but he wasn't pretty. Besides, his gray colour was very distracting, not to mention hideous. Really, who in the Universe would choose gray as his paintjob? It's sterile, it's dull… and it's also the color of the dead.

Oh yeah, Megatron also created another four robots besides me. It turned out that they were supposed to be my teammates, as if I needed any teammates…

One of them was also 100% gray.

* * *

Entry 02:

I hate Motormaster.

* * *

Entry 17:

Another day ended, another day of being beautiful.

I still hate Motormaster.

* * *

Entry 1428:

Wildrider left yesterday.

(Blinking cursor).

_Entry interrupted._

* * *

Entry 1429:

How many times have I saved the day and no one, absolutely no one, has ever give me the recognition I deserve? Motormaster always takes the credit – I hate him – sometimes leaving a few scraps to Dead End when he's in the mood.

But my team knows who the bravest Stunticon is, not to mention the hottest. Even Motormaster knows it; that's why he beats me all the time – I hate him!

"What do you want?"

"I came to collect."

Skywarp pleases my optics. I wish he would please my spark chamber too.

Thing is that when Skywarp grabbed me it was to collect me as a slave – once again, not the kind of slave I was interested in being.

Yeah, I suppose I gave him my word. But I was hanging like a million yards above the ground. Whose finish would stand a fall that far? I have a force field, but that would have been asking too much from it.

Skywarp teleported, and I hated it again. It felt like if my head was torn off and tossed into a trash compactor. Only it was more than dizziness and confusion this time. This time it hurt, because when we came back to the world my arm was half embedded into a wall.

It hurt really badly.

And Skywarp? He laughed, he laughed all the time.

"Nice move you pulled with Ramjet," he told me. "That's the only reason why I slagged your arm instead of your head, but think about it next time you want to trick me, Drag. You're my slave now, didn't you remember? Where the slag were you hiding? I needed you to polish my air intakes."

That was my cue to beat him to slag. The pain in my arm was killing me, but even with that I wouldn't have had any problems beating Skywarp. I'm the best Stunticon, the only one with natural warrior instinct, superior to anyone. Vortex told me that once. He was laughing when he said it, but that was because he's nuts. And nuts guys never lie. Wildrider—

(Line erased)

Anyway, I wouldn't have had any problems beating Skywarp, but I didn't do it for two reasons. One, it's always a shame to turn such a hot face into slag. And two, two… well, who cares about number two? My teammates knew it too, minutes before it happened. The Gestalt bond was filling itself, like an empty fuel tank reaching its maximum level.

I hate it that I wasn't given the chance to choose my teammates.

I wasn't surprised when I saw Arrr Raid. I started to call him that because of the patch on his eye, and he must have liked the name because he was still looking like a pirate, even though the rest of his frame had been repaired and he didn't have Laserbeak on his shoulder as I suggested once.

So I wasn't surprised, but that doesn't mean that I was pleased. Arrr Raid only reminds me that yeah, the nightmare is real, my team has changed and Wildrider is gone…

There's no way I'll ever consider that renegade Aerialbot as my teammate, no fraggin' way. You can't exchange Gestalt robots just like that. No matter what Dead End says, we're not fraggin' toys that can be replaced.

Frag Arrr Raid. I hate him. I wish my spark wouldn't betray me every single time that I see him. It's as if he had been my teammate ever since creation, as if he, too, was standing before Vector Sigma and lubricating himself as he watched my reflection on the shiny sphere. I'll keep doing my best to focus on the thought that he's the reason why Wildrider is not coming back. That's the truth. How come we can't see it? Even Motormaster plays the idiot and hasn't slagged that Aerialbot on the many, many chances he has had.

Why the slag am I a Gestalt robot in the first place? I'd do so much better on my own, an independent Decepticon like Shockwave or someone like that, with the difference that I'd be much better, the best of them all.

But I'm deviating from my primary concern back when Arrr Raid showed up: my arm.

Yeah, my arm was hurting like hell. I couldn't see half of it, embedded as I said it was inside the wall. I would have thought it had been chopped off, if not for the incredibly severe pain in my fingers – yeah, I still had fingers. I know a guy or two who would love to hear the news.

Oh yeah, and in the meantime, Arrr Raid beat Skywarp. Not that I needed him to do it. I could have done it myself, and I would have done it, slagged arm or not.

So Arrr Raid's first action on returning from wherever he had gone was to steal one of my so many moments of glory… Former Aerialbot and now an opportunist as well… What could be worse?

"Can you stop crying and squirming? I'm trying to free your arm here!" he dared to say. And to say that the fragger was trying to free my arm was huge lie; he was more like trying to break it in two or more pieces. I can understand some guys wanting to keep a souvenir of me, but that was too much.

He also lied when he said I was crying; I wasn't. I was sort of expressing the unbearable pain of having an arm almost severed. Didn't I have the right to do so? My arm was inside a wall! That hurt!

"Where… were you... and what took you so long, fraggit?!" I said, not so loud as to be called a cry. If he expected a nice welcome just because he had come back on his own and not dragged back by Motormaster, he could be slagged up all the way around. Just because the Gestalt bond said he was part of the team, it didn't mean that he was part of _my _team. Yeah, I never got the deserved right to choose my teammates, but as true as my paintjob is the shiniest of all Cybertron, is the fact that I would have never, ever, chosen _him._

Especially when he shot the wall and made it collapse. My arm was free, or whatever remained of it, 'cause the pain got worse.

I fell to my knees, but that wasn't weakness but a natural reaction towards suffering. Any warrior would have done the same, especially one as beautiful as me.

"It's not that bad, stop whining," Arrr Raid spat as he held my elbow – not delicately at all. "It seems that you'll keep your arm attached, but you'd do well remembering next time you teleport that you and a wall can't occupy the same space at the same time."

He tried to be funny, or to pretend that nothing had happened since he left – or since he arrived, or who cares? He's not Wildrider, he'll never be. I know Wildrider wouldn't have mocked me. He would have been worried to see my arm in such a bad state. He would have comforted me.

I hate Arrr Raid. I hated him too when I thought he had abandoned us.

My gravito-gun popped out of subspace and I fired with my good arm, and with 'good' I mean not wounded, because both of my arms are good, supreme actually.

Honestly, I don't remember where the hell I aimed. I would have liked to say that I targeted Arrr Raid's head, eager to return things to their normal status, but the shot hit Skywarp instead, who had gotten up and was ready to stick his incendiary guns into Arrr Raid's aft and empty their charge in there.

Not that I wouldn't have liked to see that, but the fraggin' Gestalt bond stings when some outsider hurts or tries to hurt any of my teammates. Besides, I had to show Arrr Raid that it wasn't him who would save day.

And what a show I put on! It's true that my gravito-gun is the most awesome weapon around, but it would be nothing without my expert handling. That was a lesson that Skywarp will know well from now on, as I made gravity frag him up and propel him upwards, crashing him against the ceiling as if he were made of junk. He was knocked out when he returned to the floor – _Knock Out… _now that would have been a proper name for me.

Fortunately, Skywarp's face remained intact. Maybe when he returns to online status he will reconsider who is the master and who is the slave. I wouldn't mind having a hot fly boy to warm my recharge berth every now and then.

I gave Arrr Raid my best look of superiority, the one that I have rehearsed before my mirror until perfection, but also the one that everybody has to receive when being addressed by me.

Arrr Raid didn't kneel to me as he should have; the fool preferred to twist his mouth. What an ugly grimace. There's definitely nothing attractive in this slag with wings. If the fraggin' Gestalt bond was going to be a complete glitch and slag me anyway, it should have at least chosen a hot teammate for me. It's no secret that I'm the only one with astounding looks in my team, no matter what Dead End says.

"I didn't need your help," Arrr Raid said, the ungrateful.

"As I didn't need yours," I replied, returning my gravito-gun to subspace. There was a time in which I wondered how his face plates would look spread all around, mixed with the ones of his teammates. _Former _teammates, that's right… I guess that Arrr Raid is off of my killing list, at least for the moment. That doesn't mean that I don't hate him.

"Shut off the pain receptors in your left arm," he said, noticing when a short circuit made me wince.

His know-it-all stance made me furious. "I know what to do! I've been online longer than you!"

"Well, it doesn't look that way," he snorted. "Now, which way to wherever the other Stunticon slaggers are being pounded? I could find them following the fraggin' Gestalt bond, but I don't feel like flying randomly through this giant tin can you call base."

I don't like his attitude. Had my arm been in a better status, I would've showed him a thing or two. Besides, I didn't have time to lose. I could feel that Breakdown was in trouble and it was my duty to keep my teammates operational.

"That way," I said, pointing ahead.

Fortunately, I was expecting his reaction, otherwise I have to confess that he probably would have left me behind – probably, and only because my arm was injured.

"Let go of me!" he said when I held him by one wing and didn't allow him to transform. It pays to have fliers in the army you have to fight for; I have known for a long time that Seekers don't like it when somebody else touches their wings roughly. Ex Aerialbots don't have any reason to be different.

"You go behind me," I ordered him. "You'll get lost in the Nemesis without me. Besides, I'm your superior!"

Things got bumpy when he pushed me to the wall. "Superior my aft! Thank the fraggin' Matrix that you're damaged, or else you'd see me slagging you all the way back to Cybertron! Don't think even for a moment that I forgot how you treated me when I was first taken here!"

Honestly, I still don't know what he was talking about. How _I _treated him? He was the one who tore Wildrider out of my life!

"I should have turned you into slag as soon as Motormaster dared to take you to this base!" I cried, fairly.

I was sure that Arrr Raid would agree that we should engage in a good fist fight right there and then, but the uncomfortable reminder of where we belonged rang again.

"As we waste time here, Breakdown and Dead End are in trouble," he spat instead of responding to the punch I gave him. "We can leave them to be slagged, or we can go and prevent Menasor from losing an arm and a leg."

_Another leg, _I thought.

I made a face. Arrr Raid was right, but only because it was too obvious. You can't be a Stunticon and not feel when your teammates are being pummeled, duh.

"'kay," I had to give in. "But I'll lead the attack!"

"Oh, for slag's sake! And just how exactly are you planning to do that? With your arm like that, you won't be able to ride! I doubt you'll even be able to transform."

When I jumped towards him, his arms moved instinctively and caught me.

"What the—"

"Easy," I hurry to help him in his ignorance. "I'll ride on you. You have wings, use them!"

"There's no way I'll be your ride!"

We struggled again as I tried to position myself on his back and he tried to get rid of me. Funny, when I saw the Autobot twins doing this to Starscream and Skywarp it looked far easier, and they were airborne!

"Didn't you say we were wasting time?" I asked as the fragger kept hitting me against the wall, trying to get rid of me but achieving nothing but scratching my back in the process. Oh, but he'll pay for that!

It seemed that we were going nowhere, until I had an idea – a brilliant idea. Wildrider and I used to go water skiing a lot, him usually being the one driving the boat. So I suggested – no, I stated – that Arrr Raid should play the part of the boat and pull me behind, no matter if there was no water inside the base. He didn't seem convinced, but the urgency to get to Dead End and Breakdown sealed it.

So I ended up skiing with Arrr Raid through the Nemesis. That smirk on my face that the security cameras captured was nothing but a stain on their lenses. I definitely did _not_ feel anything resembling happiness or excitement during that ride. I only felt that way when I did it with Wildrider, but with no one else! Especially not with a fake teammate who I'm forced to address as such.

The rest of the day was not worthy of being registered in these files. Yeah, we joined the fray, we slagged, we got slagged… Quite predictable.

The fight also went on as predicted. We would have beat up Thrust, Brawl, Vortex and Blast Off, but Megatron sent Soundwave to intervene before things got nasty – for our rivals, that is. Brawl will say slag and a half about it, but the truth is that I kicked his sorry aft.

Now, it would be easy to say that Arrr Raid's intervention made the difference, but history should be fair and acknowledge the fact that, if my arm had been operational, I would have saved the day myself and shown that intruder who the real leader of the Stunticons is. He still has a lot to learn. His place, for starters.

Now the real nightmare begins. Arrr Raid will have to declare himself to Megatron and officially become a Stunticon. I don't know what the slag is going to happen now, but I know for sure that Wildrider is not coming back.

P.S. I hate Motormaster.

* * *

_That's all, ALL, you'll get to see from my private files. Consider yourself privileged, and warned._

_Now shut it, the so-called author of this story will be back next chapter. That is, if you still want her. If you don't, I really don't care and I'll still give her back to you. I'm getting tired of whatever she's doing to my dashboard. No matter what she says, it is _not_ sexy, and I'm NOT into humans!_

_Review if you dare, fleshbags!_


	26. Mirror mirror on the badge

_It's so nice to get back from having been abducted by a Stunticon – heh, it was kind of the other way around – and finding so wonderful reviews for last chapter. Wow, I even got a comment from Motormaster himself! :oD_

_I'd say that Drag Strip's version about what happened was kind of partial, but let's leave it like that and agree that he, erm, saved the day… By the way, just between you guys and me, last chapter was beta read by my friend iratepirate, so many thanks to her! And many thanks for revising this chapter too :o)_

_Okay, now let's proceed. I was eating an apple whilst writing this chapter, hence the title. So far I was using only quotes from Stunticons and Aerialbots, but some chapters may have other kind of titles from now on._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 26**

**Mirror, mirror on the badge, who is the fairest of them all?**

"Get down from that shelf this instant! There's explosive material up there!" Wheeljack's cry could be heard in every corner of the laboratory.

The Autobots were learning very fast that keeping Wildrider away from dangerous substances was going to have to be officially added to their prime directives, perhaps even to their code of honor.

Of course, Wildrider didn't obey. He remained on top of the high shelf, half crouched in a position that would have made Spiderman jealous.

"Why are ya wasting yer time tryin' ta reason with that nut case, Wheeljack?" Ironhide said, pointing his water gun upwards. "A good dose of liquid nitrogen is tha only way t' deal with punks like this."

Skydive held Ironhide's wrist and lowered it, the movement firm, but not rude. Only when his new teammate was out of shooting range did Skydive shake his head, making clear that harming Wildrider in any way was out of the question.

Silverbolt tried to ignore the increasing tension between his teammates and the weapons specialist, and tried to focus on the conflictive element itself. "Wildrider, come down," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "Nobody is going to hurt you."

"He wants to mess with my badge!" the former Stunticon said accusingly, pointing towards Wheeljack as if the scientist were trying to do something very, very bad.

"You're an Autobot now. You can't wear a Decepticon insignia anymore," Fireflight told him.

"That crazy frag-piece is not one of us an' never will be!" Ironhide hurried to protest.

Fireflight stepped back, but Slingshot came to his aid. "He's an Aerialbot, which means he's an Autobot too. You should do a search in your rusted memory banks and see which side we fight for, pops."

"Why you punk—!"

"Ironhide, we've had this conversation already," Silverbolt intervened. "If Wildrider is going to change sides, he has to change his insignia too. Those were Optimus Prime's orders."

Mentioning his leader's name always did the trick with Ironhide. This time wasn't the exception, although the fire of indignation in the elder Autobot warrior didn't vanish.

Wildrider burst into laughter. "Yeah, your boss said I'd be a hero!"

Both Ironhide and Slingshot snorted. The other Autobots in Wheeljack's laboratory decided to ignore the comment.

"Can you please come down now, Wildrider?" Silverbolt insisted.

Wildrider shook his head vigorously. "Nope! Only if I can keep my badge."

"That won't happen, you idiot," Slingshot spat. "Didn't you hear that it has to be removed? You're not supposed to be a 'Con anymore, right? So what the slag do you need it for? Now get the frag down or I'll get you myself!"

Wildrider gaped, looking very confused. He put his hands on his chest as if he were covering a part of him that was very intimate. It was clear that he had never really understood the Decepticon cause, hence he shouldn't have had any attachment to Megatron's mark. Perhaps it was the force of habit making one last stand. After all, he had used that symbol since he had been assembled. Renouncing it meant renouncing who he was, and the team he had belonged to in the past.

The team he had loved.

Perceptor stepped forward shaking an Energon goodie between his fingers. "Come down and I'll give you a candy," he said condescendingly. "Do you like candies?"

"Don't talk to him like that. He's not an idiot," Skydive said, clearly offended by what he considered an insult to his team.

The Autobot scientist made a disdainful face. "Well, he's certainly not a genius either."

Perceptor would not leave the place unscathed if he angered one, or more Aerialbots. Silverbolt seemed to have that in mind when he came to a solution.

"What if Wheeljack replaces your insignia, but allows you to keep your original color?" he said as if he didn't notice how the tension continued escalating. "That way you'll keep the purple and at the same time you'll be wearing our brand."

"No fraggin' way!" Ironhide spat, grabbing Silverbolt by the arm. "Are ya out of yer mind? There's no way I'll let ya stain our symbol with 'Con color. Do ya even know why Megatron chose purple, kid? Because it's tha color of our blood! That symbol alone spread terror at tha beginning of tha war!"

"It will be only a temporary solution," Silverbolt said, "until Wildrider gets used to the idea—"

"That weirdo is an insult to our beliefs! Tha Autobot mark is a privilege that has to be earned, not given to any Deceptiscum terrorist who happened to merge with one of our Gestalt teams!"

"Just because we're Autobots doesn't mean that we are your property, old timer," Slingshot said. He and Air Raid had always had quarrels with the eldest of Prime's officers, and Slingshot seemed determined to maintain the tradition.

"Watch yer tone, brat! You and yer team were yet to be assembled when I already had eons fighting the 'Cons! Eons! Ya don't have any idea of what that slaggin' purple insignia means, and for what I can see, ya don't know a thing about the one you wear either! No wonder ya don't have a clue about our war against the 'Cons!"

"You're right about that," Skydive said curtly. "You just placed us in the middle of it and made us fight."

The air couldn't have boiled more. Ironhide and the Aerialbots seemed closer than ever to taking the next step in their arguments, the kind in which words were not enough and violent actions were in order. Fortunately, Silverbolt had a more leveled head and knew how to prevent dents from happening. He was as young as his teammates, but the burden of responsibilities he had been forced to accept had made him mature very fast. Not as fast as he would have wanted, though.

"It's true that we know very little about this war," he said to Ironhide. "But it's also true that we embraced your cause as ours, and that we have fought hard to protect it since that day. As for Wildrider, neither he nor we chose for this situation to happen, but it did and we all have to adapt if we want to keep fighting the Decepticons without distractions. That goes to you too, Ironhide. We respect your experience and opinion, but you have to understand that this is a matter that concerns my team foremost."

"Yer team belongs to an army, and in this army purple badges are out of tha question," Ironhide insisted, although Silverbolt's calmed tone seemed to have had some effect on him.

"What about this?" Fireflight suggested rather timidly. "We forget about the purple, but Wildrider's insignia can have something distinctive… I don't know, like the spikes on his head?"

"Spikes, yeah!" Wildrider said enthusiastically. "Can it have a moustache too?"

Ironhide turned brusquely towards Silverbolt, although within he was looking for Primus instead. If he ever achieved it, patience would have to arrive through Primary Program intervention.

"A m-moustache?" Silverbolt stammered. "I don't think…"

"What about a charro hat?"

Perceptor had the good sense to grab Ironhide by the arm and drag him backwards before something irreversible happened. Removing one of the explosive elements from the mixture was always a good idea, not to mention that it was even better to keep physical distance from Aerialbots' fists when they got clannish. The Aerialbots were Autobots indeed, but their team would always come first and they would defend it against the entire Universe.

"If that's the only way to make him accept the removal of his Decepticon insignia and to get him down from the explosives shelf, I don't see any problem in adding spikes to his badge," Wheeljack said.

That brought an immediate smile to Wildrider's face. "Will you add the moustache too? I want it hairy, and with color sparkles!"

"No moustache!" Ironhide could be heard from the back of the room.

Wildrider twisted his mouth in profound reflection. "Can it at least have a smile?" he said, looking at the Autobot emblem on Slingshot's chest. "I think it needs a smile. You need it too, Wings."

Slingshot did his best to ignore the comment, filled up to his spark with contradictory feelings of both belonging and hate towards his new teammate.

To make the never ending story short, at the end of the day Wildrider's chest plates had been branded with an Autobot insignia. It had no moustache and no charro hat, but it featured two spikes on the side of its head, one optic winking and the mischievous smirk that had become Wildrider's own private brand.

There was more than one Autobot that was certain that their millenary war against the Decepticons had just suffered a new degree of corruption.

* * *

If anything, 'reprogrammed' was a very, _very_ overrated word.

Air Raid could only tell that he had gone through the process because he had had his directives changed, but aside from that, it had been no big deal at all. He still felt like himself, all his memories, ethics and personality component packed in the same slot where they used to be.

Then what the slag was different?

He looked downwards and found the purple emblem on his chest. Oh yeah, that… Then he looked to his sides, where the real change stood in four different shapes and paintjobs, but pieces of the same insanity in the end. Perhaps it served him right to be one with that kind of company; Skydive had told him more than once that he was a lunatic, and lunatic belonged with insane.

Declaring his loyalty to Megatron hadn't been as hard as he had thought it would be either. If a word had to be chosen to qualify the act, Air Raid would have gone for _empty._

Because that's what he felt when the Decepticon insignia replaced his former allegiance: nothing. Pain would have been the logical choice; the slagging symbol, after all, had been literally carved onto his fuselage. But he had been beyond pain at that moment, as he had been since he set his flight course towards the Nemesis after deciding that returning to the Stunticons was the only alternative to termination.

He was more convinced than ever that he was nothing but a fraggin' toy in the joke of a war the Autobots and Decepticons had imposed on others that didn't have frag to do with. Making the calls about his own life was not his privilege anymore; as a leg, he had to follow the rest. Walk, run, jump, kick… Air Raid had always been proud of his wings, but he had forgotten about them with the same ease that he had forgotten about everything that had once had meaning to him. He was a leg, Menasor's leg, and he had to follow the rest. The others, himself… there were no differences left; it was all the same slag now.

If the Gestalt wanted him to be a Decepticon, he would be one. It didn't matter under which decal he fought, as long as Menasor kept walking, running, jumping, kicking… After all, at the beginning he had been forced to fight for a faction he didn't know or give a frag about. What difference did it make if he changed to the other side? His team's side was _his_ side. Red, purple… who cared about the color of a simple badge?

It couldn't be any other way for a combiner robot. The Gestalt would always be first, and one leg couldn't fight against the will of the rest. Menasor had limped long enough and wouldn't accept any more hesitation from one of his limbs. There was one stronger thing than the will of a Gestalt robot, and that was the will of his combined self. Menasor dictated, and everybody followed. And Air Raid, more than ever, was part of that _everybody._

That's when he started asking himself those questions.

Had he made the right decision by coming back to the Stunticons?

Pit, no.

Would he do it again?

Yes.

He remembered having flown through the maze of halls in the Nemesis with an ease that his flight computer almost found pleasant. It had been a while – no more than days in reality, but a lifetime to his youth and anxiety – since gravity had been so cooperative. His wings were almost grazing the walls of the corridors, but he knew that he wouldn't crash, that he would never crash again as long as he remained within the place he belonged to. It made no difference if such place was made of many; belonging was the spark and fuel of any Gestalt robot, and he had come to the decision that he wouldn't be one to deny himself the right to continue functioning.

Thoughts, however, had been the last thing in his processor when he crossed the long hallway; purple, cold walls that in other circumstances would have reminded him that he was doing nothing but entering the house of the enemy. Even colors were mixed and disregarded in the thoughtless thing his processor had become in that moment. He was all wings and emotions. The needs of his combiner self were above everything else, and the monster that towered him and his team was constantly reminding him that _He_ was above everything; above the war, above former hostilities, above things he had been taught to accept as truth…

There was only one truth now and it could be found within the One that had given him a purpose.

It was all about Menasor.

"Declare yourself to me!"

Air Raid blinked with his only optic, looking at Megatron as he had looked at Optimus Prime once; a stranger that now made all the calls about his allegiance, his life, and his death. A guy with big guns and big words, but a guy that had nothing to do with Air Raid and would never take the time to consider him something more than cannon fodder. All leaders were made of that slag.

"I'm Air Raid, and if my team does what you say, then I guess I'll do it too," he said flatly.

Air Raid wasn't surprised when Motormaster kicked his leg from behind and forced him to kneel. He shot a glare of hate at his new team leader, but he didn't attempt to get up. At that point he had it clear that any kind of rebellious attitude would only get him free trips to the Repair Bay, and that only if the Decepticons considered him worthy of being repaired.

Fortunately, Megatron had other things to do – or perhaps he was disgusted enough with the charade – and didn't bore him with speeches as Optimus Prime had done when the Aerialbots officially became Autobots. Air Raid was sure that joining the Decepticon ranks and being marked with their badge wasn't generally such a pitiful ceremony, but his case was special and Megatron seemed to agree on that idea because he left as soon as the former Aerialbot pledged his joke of loyalty, followed by Starscream and his big smirk. The rest of the Decepticons – the ones that weren't in the Repair Bay due to the earlier skirmish, that is – imitated their supreme leader, some of them more insistent than others on shooting Air Raid promises of painful and slow death via their red gazes. Air Raid really hated red optics; it was very fortunate that the Stunticons' were purple instead of red. Purple was a beautiful color.

"You should've said you hated everything the Autobots stand for," Breakdown told him once the coast was clear. "That's what Megatron programmed us to feel."

Air Raid took the fact that Motormaster was not towering him anymore as a sign that he could get up, and so he did. "Well, I don't," he said. "Just because I wear your emblem now doesn't mean that I hate the Autobots."

_And neither do you, _Air Raid felt tempted to say. Ever since he had been thrown into the Stunticons' Gestalt bond, he had realized that they knew even less about the Cybertronian war than the Aerialbots. But he had no energy left to spend it trying to understand his new teammates, at least not for the moment. All he wanted to do was to enter recharge mode and fool himself, at least for some breems, with the idea that everything he had gone through for the last few days have been nothing but a nightmare, that he would wake up to have a rough but friendly skirmish with Slingshot, or to defy Silverbolt's authority just a little bit, or to practice aerial maneuvers with Skydive, or to convince Fireflight that mountains had no magnets hidden inside and hence didn't attract metal…

"Still, you'll have to fight _them_, 'cause you're a Decepticon now, and Decepticons fight Autobots," Drag Strip said. For a moment Air Raid thought that perhaps his annoying teammate had peeked a little too much into his thoughts, but Drag Strip seemed rather absent-minded, leaning casually on the wall, and appeared to be more interested in a small scratch on his recently repaired arm than in anything else in the world.

It shouldn't have happened, mostly because he was too slagging tired, but he still turned towards Drag Strip as fast as his fury demanded him to. "Hey, I may be in your team now, but I'm no 'Con. Got that?"

"Well, I don't think you look too much like an Autobot either," Drag Strip said, smirking with that unnerving expression of superiority that made Air Raid hate himself for not being able to smash that clown to junk as he wanted so much.

The bond had tied them alright, but his own actions hadn't precisely helped in losing the strings. He would always remember the way he had teamed up with Drag Strip to save Dead End and Breakdown from the combined attack of the other Decepticons. It hadn't been one of Air Raid's cleanest fights, but the coordination he had had with his new team and Drag Strip in particular had been amazing.

Another question popped up.

Would you point your gun at Drag Strip's head?

You bet!

Would you shoot?

Never.

Air Raid growled. He should really stop torturing himself with those sick games.

The voice that followed didn't reverberate, but boomed through the room. "Stunticons, fall out. NOW!"

Air Raid startled, lamenting his reaction immediately; the last thing he wanted was to show any kind of weakness. His Gestalt self may say otherwise, but as far as he was concerned, he was surrounded by enemies.

Still, it didn't seem like Motormaster was paying any attention to him. The only thing Air Raid could see of his new leader when he turned toward him was his back, unwelcoming and rude as ever, walking towards an adjacent door.

Drag Strip snorted before following his leader, and Breakdown waited for Dead End to break his indifferent stance to trudge behind him. Air Raid followed the group. What choice did he have? He had to remain by the side of his team if he wanted to survive. Now not only the absence of his teammates would be dangerous, but the fact that he would be permanently surrounded by Decepticons who would be looking forward to having a piece of him, literally.

"Where are we going?" he asked to no one in particular, but making sure to stay out of Motormaster's audio range.

It was Dead End who responded. "Training," he said, with the same emotion he would have said 'wall'.

So life would continue; it was that simple. He was about to go through his first training session as a Stunticon, as if all the events of the past few days had never happened, or worse, as if they didn't matter at all. As he had already done so, the Stunticons had given up in their efforts to restore their team to its original status and had accepted him as one of their own. So now both Aerialbots and Stunticons were complete again, both reborn from failure and frustration. What kind of life would that be?

There was one thing he was sure about, though: he was going to hate that new life.

He already hated it.

_To be continued._

* * *

_If you want to know how Wildrider's Autobot badge looked at the end, take a look at the illustration I made for this story. Perhaps you noticed the little hint I gave to my 'My happy ending' trilogy, where Knock Out - one of his personalities, that is – adds a moustache to the badge of a certain former enemy._

_I know I have been such a procrastinator with my fics lately, but I managed to finish three updates for this story, so you can expect, this time for real, fast updates. I'm also working in a couple of my other stories, so don't be surprised if I update at least one of my very rusted fics._

_Many thanks for reading! I hope you liked._


	27. Interlude or How the West was not won

_Yes, an interlude. This is exactly what this chapter is. _

_Please keep in mind that this chapter has not been revised, so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes you will certainly find. I was sure that I had sent this to my beta reader about three weeks ago, and yesterday night when I was cleaning my sent folder I realized that I hadn't sent a damn thing! Anyway, the thing is that I have other updates on the way and I didn't want to break my promise of posting more or less regularly, so I hope you'll excuse whatever grammar inconsistencies you find here._

_Let's proceed with the chapter now. If you have the chance, go to youtube and search for the 'The good, the bad and the ugly' tune. It will come in handy for the beginning of this, um, interlude._

* * *

**Chapter 27**

**Interlude**

**or**

**How the West was **_**not**_** won**

'The good, the bad and the ugly' tune sounded as small clouds of sand whirled around the fingers that toyed with their respective triggers. Clint Eastwood wasn't there to make things perfect, but the cliché was satisfied with a desert ball that rolled between the two robotic figures. The Sun seemed to agree with the duel and chose that precise moment to kiss the horizon and give both unique cowboys the cue they both were waiting for. Neither of them had a hat, though.

"Draw!"

Metallic sounds followed, and the guns arose to confront the enemy; red against purple, badges catching the last ray of light as it witnessed a duel that the Old Wild West never saw.

Swindle raised an optic ridge, momentarily deforming his flexible visor with that physical manifestation of slight surprise.

It wasn't normal for Mirage to draw first. Swindle was the one who had received military training, not the pompous and delicate Mirage. When had the aristocrat turned into a soldier? War certainly did strange things to mechs with soft hands.

"You are terminated," the Autobot told him with a grin that wasn't scarce of satisfaction.

"Says the guy who has been killed— how many times?" Swindle said rather indifferently. And it wasn't a pose; he really didn't care about how many times he had won – or lost – those masquerades of duels. His concerns were others, such as leaving his meetings with Mirage wealthier than before. He was an entrepreneur first and a mercenary later; that would never change.

"Three hundred and forty six, but who's counting?" Mirage said, ending the musical moment by turning off his audio system and returning his gun to subspace. "The only duel which counts is the last one, and we are yet to have it. One of these days I'll shoot you for real, Swindle."

The Combaticon smirked. "Not likely. You didn't do it the first time; you won't do it the millionth."

It was true. A businessmech and his best client, that's what they were. They had known each other for thousands of vorns, far before war stopped being an element of fiction and turned into the only reality they knew. It was very fortunate that no one else knew about their relationship.

Another playful desert ball threatened Mirage's polished finish. The Autobot removed himself from the danger and looked around with a snobbish frown, an expression that not even an eternity of war had been able to erase. If Swindle was an entrepreneur first, Mirage would always be an aristocrat.

"Interesting selection you made this time, I give you that," the Autobot said, looking at the old 'Saloon' sign that was half hanging from the only construction standing more or less in one piece. "If I didn't know you, I would say that you chose this place only to disturb me. You know I hate dust."

"And mess with my best client? You offend me!" Swindle complained, looking as innocent as he was feeling. "This theme park was sort of close to our respective patrol routes, so what better way to fool our comrades in arms about our little escapade? Besides, our roles are slightly different this time. I thought we could use a change from our usual meeting spots."

Mirage opened a hidden compartment on his forearm and grasped a small box. "Slight is a good word to apply to this situation, yes. Let us not forget that you're the buyer this time… sort of. Still, I take it you, um, didn't come empty handed, did you?"

Swindle chortled and showed the three small capsules between his fingers that hadn't been there two seconds before. "Have I ever let you down, my friend?"

Mirage gave a lustful look at the small objects before returning his attention to the box, or at least he pretended to do so.

Swindle smirked. _Who are you trying to fool, Mirage?_ _It's your dealer you're talking to, not your idiotic Autobot buddies who don't have a clue of how much a pathetic addict you are._

"Blue, just as you requested it. It was really hard to believe that you Deceptigoons didn't have a single one of this in storage," Mirage said, doing his best to continue pretending that he wasn't very interested in the three small capsules.

Swindle took the box from Mirage's hand and opened it, giving a scrutinizing look to the object inside. "We have, but not of this color… Brand-new, I suppose?"

Mirage crossed his arms in indignation. "But of course! What did you think? That I took it from one of my fellow comrades, as you would have done?"

The selling-your-teammates-as-spare-parts incident, _again. _If Swindle received a credit for every time both allies and enemies had mocked him about that, he would be a very rich mech – which he wouldn't have minded, by the way. Fortunately, he hadn't given a frag when the episode had happened and he certainly didn't give a frag now. A bomb had been planted inside his head and his teammates had physically let him know exactly what they thought about his treachery, but at the end Swindle hadn't cared. It paid a lot to have such a big amount of greed in his personality component; even pain could be insignificant sometimes.

"In your case, I'd say you sneaked into the medbay and stole it right under Ratchet's nose components. Isn't using your invisibility for your own benefit against the beliefs of your heroic kind?"

The Autobot laughed. "Not that much, you'd be surprised… But aren't you forgetting something?"

Swindle waited another couple of delicious astro-seconds before extending the hand that was still toying with the capsules. "Oh, right… three shots as we agreed. A little too much for one original Autobot optic, you know? I think you scammed me."

Mirage took the capsules from Swindle's grasp before relaxing. "After the thousands of times in which you have scammed me, I'd say it's only fair."

Three Acroblast pills in exchange for an optic could hardly be called a scam, but even if such had been the case, Swindle planned to gain twice what he had paid when he returned to the Nemesis with the Stunticons' request.

"You don't mind?" Mirage asked him, looking from Swindle to the precious, slagging pills. Swindle knew that Mirage liked to keep certain things in private, but they had dealt together for a long time and it had been a while since they had stopped wasting their time keeping the appearances when they were alone, even the ones their allegiances dictated them to have. Having different badges had never been a problem for them, at least not when they met in private. The battlefield was an entirely different matter.

"Be my guest," Swindle said, not really caring if Mirage fried his circuits until deactivation. It would happen sooner or later. Swindle hoped for later, as losing Mirage would mean losing an important amount of regular earnings.

The Autobot spy opened one of the capsules and injected the content right into his fuel line. His body got lax immediately and his optics dimmed. It seemed that he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet, but he managed to wobble toward the Saloon building and sat on the porch. Swindle wasn't in a hurry to return to the Nemesis and most likely Onslaught wouldn't bother him for some breems more, so he decided to make his oldest client company.

"So how's Air Raid?" Mirage asked when he felt the Combaticon sitting beside him. "The optic is for him, right?"

Brilliant deduction… It was really a surprise that the fraggin' Acroblast stimulator hadn't slagged Mirage's cerebral chips vorns ago. The accursed aristocrat glitch had some resistance…

"Yeah," Swindle replied. "I guess the Stunticons got tired of having a pirate amongst their ranks."

Mirage laughed stupidly. "I wouldn't want a guy with a patch on my team either. Not very aesthetic, I'd say… But you didn't answer my question, Swindle. Is Air Raid all right?"

"Why would you care?"

"Unlike you, I'm not a sparkless psychotic. Air Raid used to be an Autobot just a few cycles ago. That makes him my teammate."

_You don't have the smallest idea of what a team is, you empty-headed idiot… _Swindle shook his head. "Used to, but not anymore. Besides, it's not that you knew him well. Gestalts don't mix beyond the boundaries of their teams."

"Mm, are you speaking from experience? I'm sure you Decepticons don't care about anything else besides your own plating, but we happen to think different. Air Raid was one of us."

"When did you become so sentimental, Mirage? It's hard to recognize my best client within that Autobot frame of yours. What's the matter with you and your fellow Autofools? Can't you take the fact that you lost one of you own?"

"You tell me. You're a Gestalt yourself. How would you cope with the absence of one of your teammates?"

It shouldn't have, but the question took Swindle by surprise. He was part of a Gestalt indeed, one forced together by Starscream's ambition only to be discarded and labeled as traitors by their creator, but a Gestalt nevertheless. Swindle had learned very fast to accept that he was stuck with the Combaticons for life.

"My teammates can get slagged and then get slagged back as far as it concerns me."

Mirage turned to look at Swindle and smiled at him. "Liar," he whispered very softly. The word got even deeper because Mirage was half invisible, obviously not in control of his ability due to the action of the Acroblast.

Swindle grimaced, one of those rare occasions in which he regretted not using a battle mask as the other Combaticons. He didn't like it when fingers pointed toward certain unwanted, but sensitive areas. The truth is that when he had come back to retrieve his dissembled teammates and put them back together after selling their parts to the humans, it hadn't been precisely because of Megatron's ultimatum. He could deal with a bomb inside his head, but not with absences as important as his spark himself.

"So," Mirage said, returning to visibility again and leaning his head on the wooden door behind him. "You didn't answer my question. What's Air Raid's condition?"

Swindle shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't really seen him. The Stunticons are keeping him to themselves, as if he were some fraggin' top-secret."

It was the truth. Neither Swindle nor any other Decepticon had had any recent contact with the Stunticons and their new acquisition. It was logical, though; Swindle had heard many of his fellow Decepticons vociferating how they would be the first ones in dismantling the Aerialbot to countless pieces.

Swindle just had shaken his head. Fools… Air Raid was no Aerialbot anymore, but what could be expected from non-Gestalt robots? They could never understand the real meaning of merge.

Being a Combiner himself, Swindle did understand, only that he didn't care. Onslaught had ordered the Combaticons not to take any explicit violent actions toward the Stunticons for the moment, certain that their new element would end up tearing off the Gestalt sooner or later, and the Combaticons would make sure to be there to finish them off. Aside from the sworn rivalry between both teams, Onslaught had new offenses to avenge, such as the stay of Brawl and Swindle himself in the medbay, which had caused a slight, but uncomfortable decrease of status of their team within the Decepticon hierarchy. Once again, nothing that Swindle cared a frag about, even though he had been seriously hurt. What were little vendettas compared with business? He constantly reminded himself that he had no loyalty to his team; he remained with them because, once again thanks to Starscream, he had no other choice, but he wouldn't mind if they all get fragged up. Well, all but Vortex; he was a funny guy, an interesting interface partner, and had turned to be very useful when helping Swindle to deal with unsatisfied customers.

The only thing that Swindle lamented about the recent turn of events was that, with the Stunticons secluded in their quarters, his business with them had decreased almost to zero – the fact that Swindle himself had become collateral damage of the Stunticons' attempt to regain respect hadn't helped. He hoped that the balance would return now that he was about to sell them a brand-new, original Autobot optic. It was a good thing that Dead End had managed to break his apathetic attitude for once and decided that having a one-eye teammate didn't suit the cosmetic needs of his group.

"Aren't you going to ask about Wildrider?" Mirage told him. "I know you Decepticons don't care about your own, but still, he was your comrade."

Swindle didn't give a frag about Wildrider. The once-a-Stunticon had been a good client, but his interests were mostly trinkets, so his absence hadn't meant a big loss to Swindle's subpockets. The damage, though, came in the shape of the remaining Stunticons. Drag Strip, for example, was suffering a severe case of depression – one he was desperately trying to hide – and as a result had stopped buying beauty supplies from Swindle three times a week and now he did it barely one.

"Why would I ask about Wildrider?" Swindle said, shrugging his shoulders. "Unless your Autobot buddies had already dismantled him, of course. In that case, I'm definitely interested in buying the pieces."

Mirage burst in laughter, more motivated by the Acroblast running through his fuel lines than anything else. "You are a psycho… But no, Wildrider remains in one piece. He's been going through a process of re-education."

"Really?" Swindle asked, suddenly interested. Information could be as valuable as Energon credits, and he was very willing to take anything that foolish Mirage gave him for free. "How so? Is ole Prime making him study your Autobot code of honor? I took a look at it once; the biggest lot of nonsense I've ever seen. No offense."

"None taken," was the response. What else could Mirage have said? He was not a real Autobot, at least not like the other fools who loved to play the heroes and martyrs. Mirage was a bot who had chosen his faction guided by his instinct of survival; it was no secret that Megatron had targeted politicians and aristocrats first at the beginning of the war. Swindle couldn't blame his best client for having chosen life.

"But you're right," Mirage continued. "Silverbolt is having a hard time making Wildrider read and assimilate our Honor Code. Your friend is far too… hyperactive to actually understand anything."

"Or far too insane, I'm sure you wanted to say." Swindle stretched and started to play with the half ripped Saloon sign as he prepared his most casual tone of voice. "So, when are the Aerialbots planning to show their new teammate to the world?"

Mirage was still too stunned, but he turned toward Swindle and smirked. "Now that would be confidential information, wouldn't you agree?"

Swindle shook his head; Mirage was one sui generis Autobot for sure, but he was no idiot, and loyal in his own way, not to mention that he was a prime spy when he wanted to be. "You can't blame me for trying… And I suppose you wouldn't be interested in news about Air Raid and the Stunticons either. I'm sure Megatron will test his patched team anytime soon. My vocalizer could be very cooperative… for the right price, of course."

"You'd sell your spark if you had one, Swindle… Keep the information to yourself. I'm not in duty right now. Besides, I'm not particularly interested in the comings and goings of Gestalt teams."

"It's not like you're particularly interested in anything besides yourself."

Mirage shrugged his shoulders. "I just happen to think this war is pointless."

Swindle noticed that the effects of the Acroblast were beginning to vanish. Mirage had developed tolerance toward the drug during the many vorns of abuse. That was good for Swindle's interests; the more than Mirage needed, the more that Swindle would sell him.

"Pointless?" Swindle said, completely disagreeing with Mirage. War was the best thing that had happened to him; in times of shortage, the dealer was king. "I'd say that our war will get pretty interesting from now on."

"Why?" Mirage raised his hand slowly and placed it on Swindle's arm. "Are you planning to take some advantage from this? Oh, silly me. I shouldn't ask questions that have so obvious answers."

Advantage was Swindle's middle name, with Earnings being the first. He found it natural when Mirage's fingers started to toy with the seams of his shoulder plates. It wasn't the first time, after all, and Swindle didn't exactly dislike mechs with soft hands.

As he tacitly accepted the interfacing process, he reserved one part of his processor to pry into Mirage's neural net. Maybe, just maybe, he would have a glimpse of what was happening inside the Ark and, why not, find an advantage to exploit.

The pleasure, of course, was a welcomed bonus.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Yes, my friends, a couple of weeks have passed since both Wildrider and Air Raid joined officially their respective new teams. How are they doing in this crazy new status quo? Stay tuned for next chapter and you'll know._

_You may have noticed that I winked more than once to the G1 episode 'B.O.T.', one very cool but also sad episode. Sad because, correct me if I'm wrong, it was the last episode of G1 that was actually great. After that, the rest was silence, and scrap._

_Now, a public service. Don't be like Mirage. Don't use drugs. Hopefully one day he will realize the error of his ways._

_On that topic, I needed a Cybertronian drug for this chapter. I remember one reference of such a thing in the IDW Universe – Spotlight Blurr, I recall - but it didn't work for this chapter, so I decided to come up with my own drug. I hope Acroblast sounded as a good name. I can't tell whether my original names in English sound okay or completely ridiculous._

_I hope you enjoyed the chapter and don't forget to come back. Air Raid and Wildrider will be back in 3, 2, 1…_


	28. That high altitude is making me dizzy

_O-kay, it's time for the first Leg update of the year. After the kind of what-the-frag interlude last chapter was, it's time to return to our main guys. Let's start with Wildrider._

_Chapter beta read by her majesty QoS, PhD in Stunticon Characterization and teacher of everything I have learned about the most adorable Gestalt team ever._

* * *

**Chapter 28**

**That high altitude is making me dizzy**

**or**

**Those small letters at the bottom of the page**

Silverbolt read the report displayed on his HUD the same way he would have read the outcome of a catastrophe, each word a trembling trigger that eventually would activate and destroy everything he had worked for so far.

"Wildrider…"

There was no response. Wildrider was far too interested in a flock of birds at the distance to pay attention to anything else. Logic indicated that it would have been a better idea to have the current conversation indoors, but Silverbolt had learned very quickly that his new teammate didn't enjoy being within walls for long periods of time. The alternative, though—a colorful world full of distractions—wasn't proving to be the best helper concerning attention issues.

"Wildrider!" Silverbolt elevated his voice, although not as much as to turn it into a yell. He had no doubts that the ex-Stunticon's relationship with figures of authority had been marked by violence during the first years of his life, and even though Slingshot thought there was no reason to change the tradition, Silverbolt firmly believed that breaking such a habit would be the first big step into rehabilitating the new Aerialbot.

"We should put a TV out here."

All right, maybe that was not the kind of answer Silverbolt was expecting, not to mention that the image of a television set at the top of Mount St. Hilary was highly surreal, but at least now Wildrider's attention was on him.

"I would like to talk about the events of this morning."

"Are you going to beat me up?"

"_Beat _you_…? _No!" Silverbolt said, shocked. "I mean, no. As I said, I only want to talk. You are aware that you caused a serious problem at the human settlement and compromised our relationship with our human allies, aren't you?"

"Yep, but I don't see what the big deal is. You said 'protect the innocent', so I protected the innocent."

"Yes, but—"

Wildrider got up from the flat boulder he was sitting on – which was too close to the cliff for Silverbolt's peace of mind – and reached out to a subpocket he had on one of his sides. He rummaged for some seconds before taking out a datapad, which he placed on Silverbolt's lap, also taking the opportunity to lean on his leader's legs. "'Pro-tect-the-i-nno-cent'," he read. "See? It's here, the first of you 'bots code of honor. I even marked it in red."

There was, indeed, a red mark around the directive.

"Those guys were robbing the bank," Wildrider continued, getting comfortable on Silverbolt's lap. "I knew for sure 'cause the other fleshies were screaming, and every time Megatron sent us to steal somethin' there were always fleshies screaming."

Silverbolt leaned backwards a little, not comfortable with the sudden invasion of his personal space. "Would you mind, Wildrider?"

The blank expression on his subordinate's face said everything.

Silverbolt sighed. "Please return to your seat."

"That's a rock, not a seat," Wildrider giggled, "but okay, boss."

"Let's start from the beginning," Silverbolt said as Wildrider half sat, half-crouched on his rock. "You left the base without authorization even though I have told you how important it was for you to remain here."

Wildrider snorted. "I needed a drive, and the prowler said that the halls here are not race tracks."

"His name is Prowl, and he said nothing but the truth." Silverbolt was talking by the book, but still he couldn't help understanding Wildrider's feelings. Even though he was no longer a Stunticon, Wildrider was a creature of the roads, as much as the Aerialbots were of the air. He needed to drive as much as his team needed to fly. That was his fuel.

"All right, I'll find a way to authorize you to leave the base every day to stretch your tires, but the one thing I want to make clear is that you cannot leave the Ark without my permission, much less alone. Do you understand?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"Now, point number two..." Silverbolt said, doing his best to not feel so awkward. It had been a while since he had lectured any of his teammates for a serious fault, and he certainly wasn't enjoying being in that position again. Leadership alone was already a bargain heavy enough to handle. "You acted irresponsibly and endangered the lives of an undetermined number of human beings, as well as damaging several vehicles and buildings."

"Each car, two hundred points. Buildings, a thousand," Wildrider said, laughing. "Wanna know my final score, boss?"

Was that how the Stunticons saw their senseless destruction? As some kind of sick game?

"You damaged private and public property," Silverbolt said, feeling the not-welcome-at-all sting of annoyance. "You could have hurt, even killed, humans."

"Nope, I was careful not to hit the fleshies."

"That didn't stop you from crashing their vehicles."

"Each car gives me two hundred points—"

"This is not a game, Wildrider! You can't continue behaving the way you used to. Being an Autobot doesn't mean only wearing the badge. You have to change!"

Wildrider cringed, making Silverbolt feel ashamed immediately. At some point, he had gotten up.

"I'm not going to hit you," he said, returning to his previous mood and also returning to his boulder, comfortably close to the side of the mountain. "I will never hit you. You may be used to that kind of discipline, but that's not the way things work here."

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders. "You can hit me if you want, ain't no big deal. You're not as tough as the boss. It wouldn't hurt that much."

Silverbolt didn't like to be called boss, but he liked it even less when Wildrider still referred to Motormaster with that word.

"Violence is not the way, as it wasn't the way this morning."

Wildrider gave him a puzzled look. "But those guys were robbin' the bank. Your boss said that it was my duty to protect the fleshies or somethin' like that."

"Yes, but you should have thought before acting. Rule number one in confronting a problematic situation is to keep calm while you choose the best course of action to follow. There was a robbery in progress, but breaking through the wall of the bank and shattering the entire place was not the proper way in which you should have handled the situation."

"But it was fun."

"The right thing to do and the fun thing to do are not the same thing."

"Aren't they, really?" Wildrider scratched his head. "But… I was a hero. I caught the bad guys, right?"

"Yes, you stopped the robbery, but at the same time you cost the city twenty times the amount of money that would have been lost in that robbery with the destruction you caused before, during and after the incident."

"Hey, one of those guys tried to escape. I chased him."

"Crashing twelve vehicles before you managed to reach his car."

"Would've been less, but I avoided hitting a baby, 'cause that would've been wrong, right? Hey, we can add 'You ain't to crash babies' to your honor code. I bet your boss didn't think about that, huh?"

Silverbolt sighed deeply. It was very, _very_ hard to keep a cool head. Not even Slingshot had managed to make him feel so impotent. Not even Air Raid…

"You also crashed through an outdoor advertisement," he continued reading, trying to shake the painful image of his former teammate out of his mind.

"Yeah, from McDonald's. Do you know what those breads with pieces of animals inside do to the fleshies? They kill them! I was saving human lives as your boss told me to do."

Silverbolt turned off the data displayed on his HUD and placed a hand on his forehead. "All right, this conversation won't take us far… What do you say we continue where we left off yesterday?"

"Sure, boss. I did my homework," Wildrider said, changing the image on his datapad and showing it to Silverbolt. It was a drawing, made with very childish strokes, of the five Aerialbots under the sun. Silverbolt thought that it was normal that Wildrider had drawn himself at the left corner, being the left leg of Superion, but he had also drawn himself smaller than the rest of his team. There was no doubt that Wildrider still considered himself less than his teammates, an intruder forced into the Gestalt. Skydive was right when he said that Wildrider was insane to the core, but definitely not an idiot as all the Autobots believed.

"This… is very nice, Wildrider," Silverbolt said. "Although when I asked you to write down your feelings about being part of our Gestalt, I thought that you would… well, _write."_

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders. "Drawings are better. See? I painted your lips in red."

Silverbolt had never really thought that his lip components were bigger than the average Cybertronian until Wildrider started to point it out. "Ahem, yes, I saw that… And why did you draw Slingshot at the right side? He's not Superion's right leg."

"Nope, but he doesn't want to have me close."

Yes, Silverbolt had noticed that, but that was nothing to be surprised about; Slingshot and Air Raid had always been very tight. "The opposite of Fireflight, I can see," he said, looking at the picture of Fireflight and Wildrider, so close that they were touching each other. "You two have become pretty close, right?"

Wildrider smiled. "Yeah. He should have told me he was so cool before, then I wouldn't have shot him that day at the refinery. Heh," he giggled, "ya remember, boss? That day when I shot 'Flight down at the refinery?"

Of course that Silverbolt remembered; just some months have passed, but they seemed like vorns now. Fireflight had been close to termination as a result of that fight, but Wildrider couldn't be blamed for that any more. Back in that time, he was still a Stunticon, and he had his orders to follow.

"What about Skydive?" Silverbolt asked, pointing toward the stiff-faced image of Skydive, standing between him and Slingshot. "What are those things around his optics?"

"Duh, glasses!" Wildrider said, laughing. "He's all nerd, reading about planes all the time. I told him that he should fly like those planes he studies instead of reading, and he threw a chair at my head."

Silverbolt really didn't like those episodes of domestic violence within his team. "I hope the chair didn't reach its target."

"Hehehe, nope. I would have busted 'Dive up if that had happened."

Fights between the Aerialbots were not a common thing. During the first days of their lives, Slingshot and Air Raid—the two rebels without a cause—had been close to provoking Skydive and Silverbolt himself into fistfights more than once, but the more level heads of the latter two had cooled things down. As for Fireflight, he had made it very clear since the beginning that he preferred to be slightly bullied by his two troublemaker teammates rather than doing something he would regret.

Now, with Air Raid gone and Slingshot becoming grumpier and more bitter every day, it was hard to tell how the gears of the Aerialbots' inner dynamics would end up rotating. That was something which would require a lot of Silverbolt's attention.

"All right, then I guess you did your homework," he said as he placed Wildrider's datapad beside him. "Now we can continue with the Autobot directives we were talking about yesterday."

Wildrider shrugged his shoulders. "'kay, but don't forget to include the small letters this time."

"What small letters?"

"Ya know, the ones that your boss and the other 'bots don't talk about. Like that 'protect the innocent' thingo. See what happened today. I protected the innocent, but at the end I did everything wrong."

"Not exactly, but—"

"Then I did everything right?" Wildrider said, his face shining.

"Look, Wildrider, your intentions were in the right place, but you didn't choose the best way of proceeding. When protecting the innocent, you have to make sure you don't endanger others in the process."

"I didn't. I told ya that I made sure not to hit any fleshies."

"But you caused serious damage."

"Which can be replaced, right? With money, right? The fleshies have plenty of that. And isn't life more valuable than material stuff? I read it somewhere in your code…"

Silverbolt closed his mouth. Wildrider had a point. To be honest with himself, he had to admit that he didn't understand why humans placed so much importance on lifeless things that, indeed, could be replaced. Wildrider had caused the city of Portland damages for more than twenty million dollars, but maybe human lives would have been lost if he hadn't done what he did. One life alone was more important than twenty or twenty thousand million of those dollars. He was sure Optimus Prime would agree with that.

Still, he had to make his teammate understand that he had to change his impulsive, Stunticon ways. "This is not about the fact, but about the procedure. Protecting the innocent is a big responsibility, and that includes protecting them from yourself. Remember that the humans are smaller and infinitely more fragile than us. And most importantly, remember that we brought our war to their planet. They are innocent."

"I didn't bring any war. The Autobots and Decepticons did."

Another painful truth. There were some small letters that should be included in those honor codes and directives' list, indeed…

Silverbolt shook his head slightly, getting rid of thoughts that he was sure were treacherous. "The point is that the humans are innocent of this war, and since the moment we begin to fight it we became part of the problem. It's our responsibility."

Wildrider took a small rock and started to scrape it against the boulder he was sitting on. "Yeah, and I'm the one to blame, right? 'Cause I'm evil."

"What?" Silverbolt said, his optic modules widening. "Why do you say that?"

"'Cause I used to do bad things all the time… when I was a St… a Decepticon. The twins say I should be offlined and used for spare parts."

One could always count on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to make a bad thing worse. "The twins are not exactly reliable sources of information, much less of ethical behavior. Don't listen to them."

Silverbolt remembered how fast he had learned the very first thing he had been taught: Decepticons were evil. It had been an easy thing to accept when seeing Decepticon Seekers throwing humans to the ground just for amusement, but he had matured enough to admit that generalizing was a mistake. Even before the Gestalt reprogramming, he had noticed that Wildrider was not a particularly evil Decepticon. Lunatic and irresponsible yes, but never murderous.

"I don't think you are evil, Wildrider," he said softly when he noticed that his teammate had his head bowed.

"You say that 'cause I'm in your team now," Wildrider replied, continuing to scratch the rock. "If I weren't, you'd hate me and you would be shooting my aft."

"If I fought you before, that was because you were committing crimes against humans and Cybertronians. But I never hated you."

Wildrider raised his head, his face puzzled. "Ya didn't?"

"No. I don't hate anybody."

"Not even Motormaster?"

The question managed to add some extra work to Silverbolt's processor. Motormaster was supposed to be his sworn enemy, and hate was something that was generally associated with that concept. He had never really thought about all those small letters Wildrider talked about.

"No," he said after a moment. "Motormaster is my enemy and it's my duty to bring him to justice, but I don't hate him."

Wildrider bowed his head again, the rock in his hand trembling a little. Silverbolt knew that all the Stunticons feared and hated Motormaster because of his tyrannical discipline, but he didn't want to keep rummaging through Wildrider's still very sore spark by asking him about his former team.

"Is it okay with you if we continue?" he said, not being able to avoid wondering how Air Raid was coping with such a brutal team leader. "We were talking about the Autobots' Prime Directives. You… erm, sort of understood the meaning of 'Protect the innocent'. Do you remember another directive?"

"Yeah. Preserve life by all means, or somethin' like that."

"That's an important matter we should address. Life is every sentient being's most important right, as well as freedom—"

"Whose life?" Wildrider asked, raising his head and making an end to his scratching game.

Silverbolt was taken aback. "What do you mean, whose life? _Everybody's_ life."

Wildrider frowned and rested his chin on his fist, making Silverbolt realize that he was really thinking about the issue.

"But what do you mean, everybody? How can I know who's everybody and who's not?"

Silverbolt was about to answer the obvious when Wildrider continued his train of thought. "I mean, I know I have to keep my teammates alive no matter what, but there are those small letters again…"

Silverbolt sighed. "What is it this time?"

Wildrider approached Silverbolt again and rested his elbows on his leader's thighs. "I don't know, suppose there's a building about to fall, and there's some fleshie at street level about to have his aft smashed. Do I have to save him?"

"Yes, without any hesitation."

"But what if, at the other side of the building, there's, I don't know, 'Flight?"

Fireflight at the risk of being crushed by a fallen building was a situation that Silverbolt could perfectly imagine, but that was not what troubled him. "Er… You would have to save them both."

"Yep, I'm very fast and I can save them both, but suppose there's no time, and I can save only one. Which one should I save?"

The answer rang a bell inside Silverbolt. "The human," he said, being painfully aware that he was not being honest. "You would have to save the human first." _That's what Optimus Prime would do._

Wildrider looked at him so profoundly that Silverbolt felt stripped to his most basic components.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Sorry boss, can't do that. I'd save 'Flight first. I don't have anything against the fleshies, but I'd save any of you first. You'd do that too."

It was the truth. Gestalts had their very own, unwritten directives. Silverbolt had tried so hard to be like the rest of the Autobots, to be able to sacrifice himself for the sake of a sacred cause, but at that moment he knew he was a phony. He would never, _ever_ risk losing any of his teammates for whatever the Autobots considered more valuable.

He stood up, pushing Wildrider back with the movement, and he turned toward the mountain side, which would always be a better sight than the sky before him.

"Hey, did I say something wrong, boss? Am I being evil again?"

"No, no… You just made me think," he said, turning to his teammate again. "Look, Wildrider, I'm not so naïve as to think that things are as white and black as the Autobots directives say… but as Gestalts, we have to make an extra effort to understand and adapt to those directives. Remember that we are the good guys."

Wildrider giggled. "Yeah, we are."

"I think we should call it off for today." Silverbolt would have liked to continue instructing Wildrider, but he doubted he could make any point, especially now when the Ferrari had highlighted all those annoying small letters.

"No homework today?"

"No, just… we'll continue tomorrow."

Wildrider got up. "'kay, but I have one more question."

"Yes?"

"Why are you so afraid of heights?"

That was definitely not the question Silverbolt was expecting, even considering that with Wildrider it was literally impossible to expect anything. Everything came as a surprise.

"Afraid of… How did you know that?" By advice of Optimus Prime himself, his phobia had been kept as a secret from the other Autobots, but, of course, there was nothing he could keep away from his teammates, and now Wildrider was intimately aware of some details that he would have liked to keep to himself. The other Aerialbots knew of his fear of heights, of course, but they have been decent enough to never get inside forbidden territory. All but Air Raid, that is…

"Ha, I even know about who you fantasize about. He's bright red and he talks like that donkey from Winnie the Pooh, but that's not the point, boss. Why are you so afraid of heights? They don't punch."

No, heights didn't punch, but in that moment Silverbolt understood why Motormaster had felt words were a waste of time when dealing with Wildrider.

"That's not an issue I want to talk about…" Silverbolt said, his increasing annoyance dissipating when he noticed that Wildrider was stepping back, getting dangerously close to the cliff. "Be careful—"

"Oops, the ground must be like, a million feet down," Wildrider said, smirking and looking below.

Then he jumped backwards.

"You lunatic!" Silverbolt lunged forward, immediately transforming into his alt mode. He flew right into his two worst nightmares combined: the probable deactivation of a teammate and a free fall, in that order.

He caught up with Wildrider, who was falling dead-weight style, before he could remember how high they were. Arms and legs got around his nosecone as a highly Texan-accented _'yeehaa!'_ drilled his audio receptors.

Now that the element of emergency—not to mention of utter panic—had lost its momentum, Silverbolt managed to get a grip on himself and transformed to his bipedal mode in mid air, returning to the cliff and doing his best to avoid looking down. The seven thousand feet separating them from the ground certainly felt like the million Wildrider had said.

"Hehehe, I bet you forgot I can fly too, boss."

"One week stationed in maintenance duty, Wildrider!" This time the volume of Silverbolt's voice was close to a yell.

"I actually have an anti-grav—"

"Be quiet! I said one week in maintenance duty, and no driving out!"

"Wha—? No driving? But boss, I was just tryin' to help."

"Well, now you can help everyone with maintenance duty! You have to think before acting. _Always_."

"But you really have to get over that fear of heights …"

"This is not the way, Wildrider! Let's see if cleaning the base for one week gives you time to think about everything we discussed today. And when I say clean I mean clean, not drawing or painting or whatever."

Wildrider mumbled something else about heights, big lips and good intentions, but Silverbolt stopped listening. He was very busy wondering what in the name of Primus he had gotten himself to.

Also, it was for more than one astro-klik that he wondered who the teacher was and who the student in the bizarre experience rehabilitating an ex-Stunticon was turning to be.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Rumor says that Wildrider will start a campaign against junk food. Beware, breads with dead animals inside! And you too, diabetes in a bottle! But that's another story._

_And yes, I had mentioned it before, Peter Cullen also voices the donkey from Winnie the Pooh. Brrr…. _

_Stay tuned for the next chapter, in which Air Raid will be our guide in the 'How to be a Stunticon without committing suicide' experience. Make sure not to miss it!_

_Thanks for reading. Your feedback is always welcome :o)_


	29. Ultimate guide to become a Decepticon I

His – _their_ – life had always been full of contradictions. He – _they_ – was a contradiction himself – _themselves_.

Pronouns, for example. Technically speaking, he was Spyglass, Spectro and Viewfinder. But deep inside, where it mattered, he was Reflector, because he was only himself when he was one, transformed into the most precise camera of the whole Alpha Centauri.

But aside from simple technicalities, the biggest contradiction was that he still functioned after fifty thousand vorns of war, most of them spent in the very core of the Decepticon elite forces.

How in the Pit could that be possible?

He was the weakest Decepticon by far – not to mention one of the weakest Cybertronians _ever _– and yet here he was, functional and kicking, and, as he constantly reminded himself, securely positioned amongst some of the deadliest and vilest mercenaries in the whole universe.

Then, perhaps, if brute strength wasn't the reason for his miraculous survival, it was his indispensability.

WRONG!

He wasn't the best spy either – most of Soundwave's cassettes outmatched him any day, not to mention Soundwave himself. Then why hadn't he been slaughtered to bits by mechs who thought of weakness as the only flaw their murderous ethics could conceive?

He liked to write – he had always liked to write. Thanks to his limited usefulness as a warrior, he had a lot of free time to spare, and thus he had begun to write. As a direct consequence, he had also begun to erase. Millions and millions of bits of data had been written and destroyed immediately. As a spy himself, Reflector knew perfectly well that one of the best ways to get oneself destroyed was to leave traces behind, so no one but his three selves would ever know about his feelings, his insecurities, his doubts about the war, his fears…

_Or_ his curiosity. The day he started wondering about his survival was the same day he wanted to put those thoughts into a datapad. He didn't do it, though, until the former Autobot Air Raid became a Decepticon – or a Stunticon, to be precise. The similarities he found between his own case and the newcomer's were the final push his restless mind was waiting for to finally take that datapad and start writing, no matter if oblivion was the only fate waiting for those words.

Still, he would make sure to read at least a couple of times his:

**(Chapter 29)**

**Ultimate guide to become a Decepticon – and survive in the Nemesis**

**(Part one)**

**Rule number 1: Stick to your buddies – no matter how much you hate them. In other words, roam on your own and you're dead steel.**

Reflector took five, then six pictures before he decided to wait for the perfect moment for the seventh.

An adequate decision; number seven proved to be the best when Air Raid stopped so abruptly that his feet scratched the floor. Now _that _was one picture worthy of being kept for posterity. It was a shame that it lacked of blackmail properties because, if anything, Reflector _loved _to blackmail his comrades. Telling bullies like Brawl or Ramjet that he had very incriminating images of them stealing Energon from Megatron's personal stash had saved him more than once from getting pummeled to junk. The trick was to make sure they believed that the images would be made public if anything happened to him. It was a blatant lie, but it worked with brute, simple minded guys who usually thought Reflector was a mere tool to clean up their exhausts.

"What are you, my shadow?" Air Raid growled, turning around and fixing a very intense glare on his follower. Of course, he had to know that Breakdown hated to be stared at.

As expected, Breakdown lowered his gaze. "You shouldn't walk the halls on your own…"

Air Raid expelled some air from his vents. "And why not?"

"The other Decepticons… They'll destroy you if they catch you alone."

"Let them try and we'll see what happens. You know what? I actually want them to try!"

Reflector took another picture. He made a note in his processor to call that one 'Ridiculous Bravado'.

When Breakdown didn't reply, Reflector was sure that Air Raid would keep walking but, much to the three-in-one spy's surprise, he didn't.

"Besides, why would you care if I get slagged?"

What? Seriously? Did that tin-head ex-Aerialbot knew nothing? It should have taken just a little peek into the gestalt to know that Breakdown was the one that kept the Stunticons together. He would do anything for his teammates. Please, everybody knew that! Even Reflector did.

"See that?" Breakdown said, positioning his anxious gaze at the number at the top of the corridor.

"Sector 117-Alpha… so?"

Breakdown cleared his vocalizer. "That's Triple Changer territory."

Yes, and thus Reflector's territory. Okay, maybe he wasn't a Triple Changer per se – kind of the opposite, actually – but he had been smart enough to become friends with one of the most deadly sub groups in the Decepticon army. Back in Cybertron, he used to take pictures of females in provocative positions and gave them to Octane, probably the most lecherous mech Vector Sigma had ever sparked. Of course, Octane had appreciated the detail and had made sure to tell his fellow Triple Changers to keep an optic on his little buddy, hence Reflector had acquired two very powerful friends in the frames of Astrotrain and Blitzwing. Two murderous maniacs for sure, but they were also the best way for a small guy like Reflector to keep himself alive in a war in which mechs ten times stronger than him hadn't made it.

"_So?" _Air Raid insisted, folding his arms across his chest in another display of his childish bravado.

"So…" Breakdown fidgeted with his hands. "You don't enter Triple Changer territory alone. Not a good idea."

Had he had been in bipedal form, Reflector would have nodded. It was good that Astrotrain and Blitzwing inspired respect and fear in his comrades-in-arms. Between the Decepticons, it was all about letting the others knew you could crush them, or else you got crushed yourself. In Reflector's case, his share of respect was based entirely on his association with his powerful occasionally roughed him up, of course, but never with deadly force.

"I go wherever I want," Air Raid said. "I'm a slagging 'Con now, right? That's what this slaggin' badge says. Or are you going to tell me that your slagging team isn't part of the 'Cons?"

It wasn't about badges, but territory, one of the most important words in the Decepticon dictionary. It seemed that the rebellious ex-Autobot still had to learn his lesson about it. It would be good if Blitzwing or Astrotrain showed him some manners.

Breakdown kept his gaze low, but didn't get out of his teammate's way. "This is like _tease-it._ Nobody will tell you about it, but it's better to respect the zones in the ship where other teams hang out. It helps to avoid problems."

"Wouldn't you mean to say TACIT, by any chance?" Despite his rude tone, Air Raid didn't get physically violent with Breakdown. _Interesting, _Reflector thought as he zoomed in. "I don't know how you 'Cons run things there, but it's not like this in the Ark. You can go everywhere and nobody messes with you, except that time when I sneaked into the Dinobots' lair…" Air Raid stopped talking, perhaps realizing that he was getting too personal in a conversation with a former sworn enemy. _Or perhaps you are getting a little too comfortable with your new brother, Autobot._

"You mean…" Breakdown twitched. "You mean you don't have to watch your back, like all the time?"

Reflector prepared his lenses. Most likely Air Raid would retort sourly to the other Stunticon, mocking him or looking to hurt him, a very easy task considering how vulnerable Breakdown was. Had Reflector been just a little viler mech, he would have made sure to exploit such weakness. He knew his Triple Changer buddies did – whenever Motormaster wasn't looking, that is.

"No, there's no need to watch your back. The Autobots are pretty decent to each other, friendly… You'd like it there."

Now that was something that Reflector wasn't expecting. _Getting softer, Auto-fool? _The uncomfortable silence that followed gave the camera-shaped Decepticon three perfect shots to title 'awkward'.

But it was the look on Breakdown's face that made the moment, especially when he raised his head and actually looked at his teammate's optics. That gesture had to mean something, given that Breakdown _never_ looked straight at anybody's optics.

Reflector had always known that he wasn't the only Decepticon who longed for a peaceful life. There were some rare exceptions, like Scavenger of the Constructicons, and now Breakdown… Of course, the mech computing such treacherous thoughts had to make sure to keep them to himself, unless he wanted to be obliterated.

"Are you," Breakdown said, his optics still fixed on Air Raid's, "are you still going to Triple Changer territory?"

The flier opened his mouth to respond, but Breakdown was faster. In what looked more like a move that Reflector had seen the humans perform in their wrestling matches, Breakdown managed to make a head-lock on his teammate and dragged him backward, at the same time placing one hand on his mouth plates.

Air Raid struggled but his position didn't allow him to stop Breakdown from dragging him toward a big crack in the wall, curiously the same one in which Reflector was hiding – and curiously the same one that had been created by Breakdown himself some deca-cycles ago, when Motormaster had crashed him brutally against the wall after failing in retrieving some human military device. It was barely big enough to hide two Transformers of average size, but hopefully both Stunticons wouldn't notice the camera right above their heads. Reflector trusted in the reduced dimensions of his alt mode, not to mention that the heavy steps approaching through the corridor had caught all the attention of both Stunticons.

That took Reflector to **Rule number 2: Unless he speaks directly to you, make sure Megatron believes you are invisible.**

"Q-quiet," Breakdown said to an already mute Air Raid, not easing his grip on his teammate.

And Air Raid didn't move. Maybe the winged Stunticon wasn't as suicidal as Reflector had begun to think, because he kept very still as Megatron walked outside.

It was only when the steps couldn't be heard anymore when Breakdown removed his hand from Air Raid's mouth.

"Do you value your finish as much as your diva teammates, Breakdown?"

"You mean Dead End and Drag Strip? They are your teammates too…"

"Can it, you paranoid freak! Don't remind me about that! I asked if you value your finish or not?"

"I… I suppose so."

"Then let go of me right now or I'll make you eat your tires!"

Air Raid didn't have to yell. He had gotten rid of Breakdown's grip with a violent yank before finishing speaking.

"Sorry…" Breakdown stammered.

Air Raid turned around, with some difficulty considering the dimensions of their improvised hiding spot. "What was that all about?"

"Well, M-Megatron…"

"Let me guess. You don't get on his way, right? He slags you at first sight."

"Not necessarily… but you better stay away from him. He's not happy about you being here."

"That makes what, like everybody else in this dump hole? Look, I don't care if Mega-brute doesn't want me in his army of trash cans. I don't hide from anybody, let alone that bucket-head."

Breakdown shook his head slightly. "Don't call him that. Motormaster wouldn't like—"

"Maybe you mindless fools worship the ground he steps on, but I saw Megatron firsthand back before the war started. I saw what he did… That's not a guy I'd ever feel respect for."

Both Reflector and Breakdown gave Air Raid an odd look, Reflector zooming in even more with his powerful lenses. Was that Autobot over-energized, or only insane as the rest of his Stunticon brethren?

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing of your slagging business," Air Raid said with a frown. "Just make sure you understand that I'm here because I have to, not because I want to. I'd choose being in the bottom of a smelting pit over being part of your team any day."

Breakdown looked hurt, that was something Reflector could understand. The camera-shaped Decepticon was no gestalt, but somehow he suspected that Breakdown was thinking about Wildrider.

Reflector was very fortunate. If he lost any of his three selves, he wouldn't have time to mourn it; he just would stop functioning. Breakdown, on the other hand, had lost a teammate and got another he hated in return. The exchange was not only unfair, but highly ironic.

Whether realizing that he had gone too far or was merely getting attacked by the claustrophobia natural to all fliers, Air Raid snorted in a way that sounded apologetic. His next words, though, didn't seem like an apology at all.

"Out of my way."

Breakdown moved but only succeeded in tangling himself with his teammate a little more. He didn't know exactly what it was, but Reflector could feel some chemistry between them. That accursed Gestalt bond really created wonders in its victims.

"I said out of my way, freak!"

"Wait… my shoulder joint got stuck in your arm."

"Wonderful."

"Try to move it to the… That's it, now I'll move my own arm and—"

The metallic sound that followed was one of the most horrible things Reflector had ever heard. It hadn't been loud, it hadn't been screechy… but still, it meant doom.

Breakdown raised his head to look at whatever he had hit when he had raised his arm, almost suffering a collapse when he saw the camera above him. If Reflector hadn't been too busy fearing for his life, he would have remembered that one of Breakdown's worst nightmares was the idea that they were cameras pointing at him all the time.

Air Raid looked upward too, his optics shining with rage.

_Uh-oh…_

There wouldn't be a more fitting moment to recall:

**Rule number 3: Bully the small guys – sigh…**

The smirking face displayed on the metallic can seemed to mock him.

Reflector had never wondered who had come up with the idea of immortalizing Megatron's electric pet on a beverage, but whoever had turned the maniacal Kremzeek into the image of the most popular Cybertronian drink had to be a very rich mech.

That thought didn't make his predicament any easier. He was still at the bottom of a waste disposal unit, stuck between alt and bipedal mode, and buried under a pile of junk that had to weigh more than Astrotrain and Blitzwing together. The smirking face of Kremzeek on the can against his optics didn't help to minimize his humiliation a bit, or at least the pain…

The good news was that his lenses hadn't been damaged.

Breakdown had been too shocked to do anything, but Air Raid gladly covered for him. After receiving the worst beating he had had in at least three deca-cycles, Reflector was certain that the new Stunticon was going to fit within the Decepticons pretty well.

There were, though, some rules yet to exemplify, and he would make sure to follow the renegade Autobot until he proved Reflector's point.

Of course, first he was going to need to find a way to get out of there. Besides the weight, there was something viscous running through his half transformed face plates.

Perhaps he should comm. Blitzwing or Astrotrain and ask for help?

HA! He was not _that_ crazy.

**Rule number 4: Never ask your best buddies for assistance, unless you want to end up worse than you are.**

_To be continued._

* * *

_Hello people, it's been a while. I know I haven't updated for, um, like more than a month, but later is better than never._

_I hope you enjoyed the first part of Reflector's guide of how to become a Decepticon. The most important rules will be explained next chapter, always with Air Raid's involuntary assistance._

_As you certainly noticed, I blinked to the G1 episode in which the Aerialbots travel to the past of Cybertron and witness Megatron's evilness from the front line, hence deciding to stay with the Autobots and help them to fight the Decepticons._

_If you guys are familiar with the Transformers comics, you may remember the Kremzeek drink that both Dreamwave and IDW featured. I figured that some of those could be found in the Nemesis' trash cans._

_Many thanks to Starfire201 for beta reading this chapter. I may pester her again if my usual beta gets tired of me :oP_

_Thanks for reading and for your patience. Please review if you liked._


	30. Ultimate guide to become a Decepticon II

Lenses?

Check.

Spark integrity?

Check.

Energy levels?

Check.

Battle computer?

Check.

Lubrication valves?

Check.

Fingers?

Now that was the one item – ten, actually, or thirty, if Reflector considered his three selves – he currently cared about the most. He needed fingers to continue writing, no matter if returning to the repair bay was more than a possibility.

He had been close to entering stasis lock due to the beating courtesy of his new comrade in arms, the Stunticon Air Raid – it still sounded weird. That alone should have been enough to encourage him to abandon his Project Follow-the-ex-Aerialbot-everywhere-he-goes, but he was still curious, _very _curious, to see him proving accurately Reflector's:

**(Chapter 30)**

**Ultimate guide to become a Decepticon – and survive in the Nemesis**

**(Part two)**

**Rule number 5: Get your place in your team's hierarchy and make sure your teammates understand it.**

What was the word? _Bizarre_. Yeah, bizarre. Reflector was sure that Air Raid used to throw darts at an image of Menasor, back in the days when he still was an Aerialbot. Would he do it now, when he was part of the behemoth himself? Maybe he would, but not at the left leg. Oh no, that would be a self-inflicted injury. Although, considering what Reflector had been able to see for the past few weeks, the Autobot was a part time masochist – and close to being a sadist too, considering the way he had pummeled Reflector, almost managing to offline him.

Were they so close, really, the times in which Air Raid belonged to the team that was sworn enemy of the Stunticons?

It hadn't been like that at the beginning, not at all. The Aerialbots were air warriors, assigned to fight Seekers, but oh how quickly had the Stunticons gotten on their bad side… The enmity between both Gestalts had become the most important part of the Aerialbots' side that was Autobot.

Reflector used to observe his enemies, and not only for spying purposes. He liked to watch, and with those sights had come the certainty that the Aerialbots were no regular Autobots. They used the red badge because it gave them the perfect excuse to fight and try to destroy the Stunticons.

Reflector wished to understand. As much as he considered himself a loner – a loner that was always three, yes – he would never be able to comprehend Air Raid's position. He was alone within teammates he hated, and every nano-klik he spent with them he became more and more part of their gestalt. Without any doubt, it had to hurt.

Reflector took a picture, two to make sure his angle was the best. He also hoped that his position was safer than his previous hiding spot; there was no way to assure he would survive a second encounter with the Stunticons if they discovered they were being spied on, especially if the news reached Motormaster.

But the current sight was worth the risk. The distribution of the Stunticons in their common room said a lot about their personalities. That was one thing Reflector had always found fascinating: the way Gestalts, despite being part of the same super robot, were such unique individuals. The Constructicons were a good example of this, but the Stunticons took unique personalities to a whole different level. Each one of them was _so _different from the other…

Reflector took a third picture of the room. Motormaster was absent, but the television set seemed to take his place as the figure of authority in the most illuminated part of the room. It was a dethroned king, though, as the attention of the Stunticons was everywhere but on the screen displaying some human fiction.

Dead End was sitting on the couch – spread would have been a better term – totally absorbed in whatever he was reading on a datapad. Drag Strip and Breakdown were at the center of the room playing a game of Cyber-Poker, except that, instead of gambling, they had a small electric generator connected to their wrists, destined to give a mild shock to the loser. Reflector could tell that such variation from the original game had been Drag Strip's idea and that Breakdown tagged along only not to displease his teammate.

And there, on the left side of the room, was the object of Reflector's study. Sitting – or better said, sinking – on the seat opposite to Dead End, was Air Raid, or what could be seen of him under the dim light and the hands that partially hid his face. That was not a happy Stunticon, that was for sure. That brought Reflector satisfaction. He wished nothing but suffering to the loathsome Autobot bully. He shouldn't have beaten him so hard… There were far worse things you could do to a mech than spying on him.

There was no doubt that Air Raid would prefer to be anywhere else but there – a pit of acid included – but he certainly had learnt his lesson about not wandering the halls of the Nemesis alone, not to mention that leaving the base to take a flight was still very far away from his clearance.

So he had to be there because he had no choice. Reflector could understand that. He himself didn't dare to fly away from the war because the Autobots or his fellow Decepticons would slaughter him at first sight. Besides, he had nowhere to go. That was the thing with freedom within a war: you had to be where your chances of survival were the highest, not where you really wanted to be.

But back to the ex-Aerialbot… _Oh, so you're looking at Dead End, aren't you? _Wondering perhaps how in the world he managed to read in the middle of the small chaos both the TV and the Cyber-Poker players were creating. But no matter how small or big Air Raid's curiosity was, he would never lower himself to ask. Reflector had learned very soon that the flier was proud and would do his best to pretend he didn't care the slightest bit about his forced teammates.

A flash of light illuminated the grimace of contempt on the Autobot's face. Normally, the muffled cry of pain that followed would have been enough to draw a smirk on his grumpy features. _Normally_, of course, had been a long time ago.

"I don't like this game."

Drag Strip ignored Breakdown's complaint for the seventh time and offered him a pack of cards, indifferent to the small cloud of smoke coming out of Breakdown's frame after having been electrocuted.

"How many?" he told him.

Breakdown looked hesitantly to the five cards he was holding with trembling fingers. Reflector noticed that Air Raid was looking at the cards too, perhaps making an effort to avoid punching his paranoid teammate or at least shaking him madly; even a blind mech would have noticed that Breakdown had no game.

"I… um…"

_Two, you stupid oaf, two! _Reflector could almost hear the former Aerialbot yelling to himself, repeating again and again that he didn't care if Breakdown lost another game and got electrocuted again. _Oh, but he's your teammate. You don't want him to get fried, do you?_

"Two," Breakdown finally said. From his place, hidden behind a speaker box and transformed into his alt form, Reflector approved. Breakdown had the biggest case of paranoia ever, but he was no idiot at all.

Still, Drag Strip displayed his most triumphant smirk and pushed the button on his side of the table, electrifying Breakdown again and making him jump.

"I win. _Again_." Five perfect cards were perfectly extended on the perfect table. Reflector took a picture.

That didn't prevent him from noticing Air Raid frowning. _See what I told you? You care._

"Now, Breakdown, it's your turn to—"

Breakdown's aft hit the floor at the exact moment in which Air Raid took his place in front of Drag Strip. The chair didn't even move.

"The frag… Arrr Raid—?"

That nickname _again. _Even Reflector was starting to get tired of it.

"Cheater."

Drag Strip had an optic visor, but still Reflector could tell he was frowning. _Oh, so you don't like the truth, uh?_

"C-H-E-A-T-E-R," Air Raid repeated, grabbing Drag Strip's hand and forcing him to show his game. "Breakdown had two silver knights. How come you have three?"

He proceeded to expose the small compartment hidden in Drag Strip's hand. Reflector took a picture immediately. Now _that _had escaped his attention. There was no wonder why he wasn't prime spy material… Not that he cared about that, though.

The following chain of events was hard to capture in pictures, both because it happened too fast and because it happened at different parts of the room.

Drag Strip punched Air Raid, throwing him backwards. The flier landed rather unceremoniously, the back of his head hitting the spot right between Dead End's legs. Reflector would have laughed, but that would have blown his cover. Any other Stunticon – actually any Decepticon – would have considered that a perfect excuse to start a fight, but Dead End was different. Reflector knew, as he was sure Air Raid knew as well, that Dead End wouldn't be interested in initiating any hostilities that could damage his polish job.

And he wasn't wrong.

"You really should pay more attention to personal grooming", Dead End said, barely shifting his position on the couch, and he did it only because Air Raid's helm interfered with his reading.

And yeah, there was a small dent now on the left side of Air Raid's face, one that didn't take long to find a twin on the plates of Drag Strip's cheek.

That's where Reflector stopped taking pictures. The events that followed were nothing that the Stunticons common room didn't see any other cycle. If somebody would have taken a peek at the scene and disregarded the white and red color scheme – not to mention the wings – of one of the fighters involved, it would have looked like an ordinary fray between Stunticons.

Even in the most adverse or ridiculous circumstances, reality always found a way to settle in.

* * *

**Rule number 6: Show the other Decepticons you're a badaft.**

Ah, refueling time… definitely Reflector's favorite moment of the solar cycle. The energon flowing, the happy camaraderie, the –sometimes – absence of violence… And also the best time to spy on his fellow Decepticons.

But as it had happened for the last three terrestrial weeks, only one of said fellows caught his attention – the same one that had stored him at the bottom of a garbage disposal unit – and he was sulking on the table destined to the Stunticons, busy returning each and every one of the unfriendly gazes that the rest of the Decepticons in the Refueling Room were shooting at him. Experience had taught Reflector that unfriendly gazes were usually followed by punches to the face plates or not-so-deadly laser shooting. He hoped that the new Stunticon would learn that lesson soon, and painfully.

It was a surprise that no fatal incident had happened since the former Autobot had arrived to join the merry Decepticon family. It had to be the Motormaster factor; it was no secret that anybody who dared to mess with a Stunticon would have to face Motormaster's fury sooner or later. And okay, maybe he was only one guy, but he was very strong and very sadistic, both qualities that helped him handsomely when the time arrived to avenge any of his teammates.

But Motormaster was currently absent, in a meeting with Megatron or Primus knew where else, so there were only four Stunticons in the room, an appropriate number for the other Decepticons to take some liberties. And liberties happened, just not coming from the source Reflector would have expected.

"Why are we sitting here?" Air Raid asked Dead End, who was, as always, lost in whatever apocalyptic thoughts he had.

When Dead End gave no signs of responding, Breakdown turned to Air Raid. "Because this is our table."

"Says who?"

"That's the way it has always been."

That _always _was very questionable. The Stunticons were barely a twentieth of a vorn old. Guys that young didn't have any idea of what words like 'always' really meant.

Air Raid didn't seem satisfied with Breakdown's answer. He leaned forward and pointed toward the closest table to the energon dispenser.

"I don't like this table. I want that one."

The rest of the Stunticons – even Dead End – looked to where their winged teammate was pointing.

"That's the Seekers' table. It's off limits," Breakdown wasted no time to illuminate his new teammate. From his place on the ceiling, Reflector wondered what the Autobot would do without Breakdown to explain him everything.

Air Raid expelled some air from his vents. "All I see is an empty table," he turned to his left, "which also happens to be the best table in the room. The best team should have it."

The Unicron-cursed Autobot had known perfectly where to turn to, because Drag Strip raised his head, his interest raised as well.

"We are the best team," Drag Strip said as if talking to himself. Reflector had no doubt that that was the most profound realization the moronic hard-head had had since his creation. It said a lot about his lunacy that such realization was a complete lie.

Albeit in alt mode, Reflector frowned. There was no doubt that Air Raid had empathy with Breakdown, but there was a bitter complicity with Drag Strip that qualified as dangerous. The simpleton Stunticons certainly did not notice it, but every day, perhaps every breem that went by, their new acquisition became more and more one of them. His relationship with Dead End and Motormaster, though, was yet to be explored.

Sensing that he was already in the middle of the calm before the storm, Breakdown turned to Dead End, looking for help. Normally Dead End would have answered with a nonchalant look, but this time, for once, he seemed interested in the development of what was about to happen. Reflector had always known that the fatalist Stunticon was more alive than he liked to show.

"I see no Seekers around," Air Raid said.

"It's still early—"

"Who's the strongest guy in this place?" Air Raid interrupted Breakdown, standing up from his chair.

"Besides me, you mean?" Drag Strip also looked around, not finding it difficult to point discreetly toward a table to the left, closer to the Energon dispenser than the Stunticons' table. "That would be Blast Off."

Reflector missed the moment Air Raid grabbed his torque rifle, but he saw when he placed it in Dead End's hands. "Cover my back."

Now that was a gesture of absolute trust. Cybertronians had three things they held sacred: their spark chambers, their transformation cogs and their personal weapons. In other words, those were the three things you didn't lend to just anyone.

Dead End remained indifferent. "I don't see any reason to do so."

"Let me put it this way. If I go in there without my back covered, I'm going to get slagged, which means that I'll definitely not look well-groomed enough to you, not to mention that this pretty optic you got for me will be wasted. Is that reason enough for you?"

Air Raid didn't wait to see if his antic had been successful. Blind trust was the one undeniable element in any mech that was part of a Gestalt, simply because he needed to keep the team functional if he wanted to preserve his sanity – and his life. Simple and cruel. There was no doubt that Gestalt technology had been, ever since its conception, a Decepticon idea.

Reflector felt no sympathy for the guy who had thrashed him, but he had to admit that it took struts to walk right to the Combaticons' table just like that, alone and in the middle of mechs that still saw him as an Autobot.

Trouble didn't wait to present itself, and soon it was obvious that Air Raid wouldn't reach his destination._ Dead fool walking, _Reflector thought.

An interesting side of Dead End's personality was revealed when, out of nowhere, a very accurate beam impacted Ramjet's shoulder when he tried to intercept the former Autobot to start a fight. Air Raid had not only been trusting, but smart, when picking the best sharpshooter amongst the Stunticons to cover his hide.

To the Autobot's fortune, the Combaticons' table was not entirely occupied. Only Brawl reacted toward the foreign presence, whilst Blast Off remained watching the holo-projection of a human broadcast that seemed to have all his attention. Swindle only smirked.

"Hey!"

Brawl stood up to confront the newcomer, but Blast Off continued watching the holo-projection.

"I said hey, Combaticon scum!"

Air Raid ignored Brawl even when he pushed him roughly. "I heard that you're the strongest piece of junk in this room. Is that right?"

Reflector laughed softly from his spot on the ceiling. Trying to provoke Blast Off was a lost cause. The oversized snob _never _reacted to provocations, at least not of the verbal kind. The ex Aerialbot was lucky, because if Blast Off decided he wanted to get physical, not even Motormaster would be able to stop the Combaticon from embedding Air Raid's thrusters into his afterburners. Now that was a picture Reflector would give one of his lenses to have.

The plan didn't lack of logic, though. Challenging the strongest Decepticon in the room would make a point to the others, but Air Raid had made the wrong choice. He would _never _be able to beat Blast Off in hand to hand combat, and even if he did, no Decepticon would consider such feat worthy of their respect. Blast Off could be as tough as durabilium steel, but his rank was meaningless. If he wanted respect, Air Raid would have to challenge a prime Decepticon.

The commotion increased as more Decepticons arrived to the Refueling Room. Reflector could pinpoint three Constructicons, Rumble, Frenzy, Soundwave… and sharp, polished wings that announced Seekers.

Now that was a menu worthy of attention. Seekers and the Communications Officer… Things had gotten from interesting to morbid. Was that Autobot really so stupid to make such a scandal in the presence of the Decepticon High Command? What if Megatron himself decided to honor his soldiers with his presence?

Big frames got in Reflector's visual field as Bonecrusher and Mixmaster joined the rising fight. Things didn't look good for the Autobot, oh no, unless being taken apart by a mob could be considered a good thing to his standards. If he got pummeled to death nobody would be blamed because he had literally asked for it, that was another tacit rule amongst the Decepticons. Reflector felt the need to smirk; he would never forget how that same Autobot had nearly killed him.

Air Raid grabbed a chair and used it to keep his wannabe murderers at bay, although he kept calling Blast Off names and trying to provoke him into a fight. But Brawl and half a dozen Decepticons got in his way, struggling amongst them for the honors of being the first one to dismember the Autobot intruder.

Only that the new Stunticon was not alone. He had a team.

Dead End, using Air Raid's torque rifle, again made clear that things would get ugly, gunfire ugly, if terminating Air Raid continued to be on the agenda of the day. Drag Strip joined in too, although his bravado seemed to be more like a pose than a genuine desire to have his chassis dented defending his teammate. Even Breakdown approached, trying to find the words to call for reason. That would be a fight that was meant to be lost; carnage, actually. What in the Primary Program's sake did the Autobot have in mind by guiding his team to be destroyed like that? And for what prize… a _table?_

A battle was declared the moment Dirge's helmet deformed drastically thanks to Dead End's accuracy and Air Raid's torque rifle. Ramjet decided that he had had enough and put his arm-mounted rifles to use, making the fireworks crackle.

Only chaos reigned then. Reflector couldn't see anything but a mass of arms, legs and helmets. Still, he could catch a glimpse of Rumble deploying his pile drivers, Brawl transforming into tank mode and somehow trapping Blitzwing's rims with his in his rush to run over Air Raid…

_What a mess… Is this the way you're looking to gain some respect, you Autobot fool? You're about to get vaporized!_

But respect came in mysterious ways. Just when Reflector was thinking about joining the fray and putting a missile right into the Autobot's core – and thus gaining some respect of his own – Air Raid found his target. His _real _target.

Question: How in the Inferno you manage to stop time? More importantly, how in the Inferno do you manage to avoid being murdered by the most sadistic bunch of mercenaries in the galaxy?

Answer: You target someone that highly outranks you, someone that will make a point to the other Decepticons, someone that they fear but that at the same they hate, someone that will make a difference… and most importantly, someone that wasn't expecting to be targeted.

Ah, attacking an enemy from behind, an antic that the Decepticons had turned into an art. _Loathsome Autobot, are you sure you weren't created a Decepticon?_

When Air Raid impacted his chair on Starscream's head with brutal force, everything stopped. The yelling, the struggling, the never ending hatred toward anything that smelled like a red badge…

Nobody moved, nobody said a word, nobody tried to assist their fallen Air Commander, nobody continued the disassemble-the-Autobot game…

And nobody saw Motormaster standing at the entrance of the Refueling Room. Only Reflector did, but he was still too shocked to remember to take a picture.

But he saw, and he would never forget, the slight nod of approval that the Stunticon leader gave to his new teammate.

And the smirk… Air Raid saw it too. It wasn't a smirk, but a smile, a terrifying sight on such a brutal face.

_To be continued._

* * *

_Thank you for joining this second part of Reflector's guide to become a Decepticon. Please follow these steps if you're an Autobot suddenly thrown into the core of a Decepticon gestalt team, but remember that the house doesn't take any responsibility if you get slagged in the process. Be warned._

_Don't miss the third and final part of this very useful guide. I have it pretty much written already, so it shouldn't take much to hit your screens._

_Many thanks to iratepirate for coming to my rescue and revising my grammar. And many thanks to all of you too. Your reviews and inspiration are pure fuel to my stories._


	31. Ultimate guide to become a Decepticon 3

_Welcome to the third and final part of Reflector's guide. If you intend to become a Decepticon, this guide may come in handy._

_I won't extend myself too much in these initial notes – I will do that at the ending better. So instead of notes, I want to send a billion thank yous to QoS for beta reading this chapter. Since I fell in love with the Stunticons because of her fics, I feel extremely happy every time she approves my characterization. Her grammar corrections and advice are a priceless bonus :oD ¡Gracias, Maestra!_

* * *

**Chapter 31**

**Ultimate guide to become a Decepticon – and survive in the Nemesis**

**Part three**

Ever since their creation, the Reflector triplets knew that separation was the name of their one and only archenemy.

Each one of them had a unique denomination, but if they had used it a miserable half a million times during their life, it would be too much . They were Reflector first, and Reflector they would be till the end – literally, because one couldn't function without the other two. That was the main thing that made them different from Gestalt teams – that and the fact that they didn't combine into a powerful super robot, but into an absolutely defenseless mini camera.

If a Gestalt lost a member, its components remained functional – somehow – alive and kicking to mourn their fallen teammate and also easy prey to chaos and depression. Apparently the Reflector team had gotten the small stick in the combiner deal, but at least suffering for a terminated brother was something they would never get to know.

An interesting variation in Gestalt technology happened when the Stunticon Wildrider and the Aerialbot Air Raid fragged everything up and demonstrated that, even if theory didn't allow for it, it was possible for two different Gestalts to exchange members – make that two _very_ different Gestalts. That alone would revolutionize all of combiner technology, and it was also the reason why Reflector had decided to split into Viewfinder, Spyglass and Spectro to take different positions in the vast storage room at the bottom of sector GS-73, one of the most isolated parts in the _Nemesis_.

In their robotic modes they couldn't transform into individual cameras, so they were currently using their built-in visual and audial sensors to register everything that was happening in the room. Fortunately, the amount of damage in the walls and ceiling had created perfect spots for three – or a dozen – small robots like the Reflectors to hide without being noticed.

It was Spyglass who couldn't help wondering how much of that damage had been caused by the Stunticons and their peculiar training sessions. Viewfinder went beyond, guessing that most of the damage had been inflicted by Motormaster himself. Spectro agreed, adding that most likely Motormaster had created said damage with his teammates instead of his weapons.

One thing the three of them thought at the same time was that calling that spectacle a training session was more proof of how dysfunctional the Stunticon Gestalt team was.

And primitive as well. None of the Reflector triplets could understand why the Stunticons practiced in a wretched warehouse instead of a proper training room. Maybe it was Motormaster's idea to both keep his strategies private and his new teammate away from the public eye as much as possible.

Reflector had never paid the Stunticons too much attention, but those few solar cycles following Air Raid's arrival had imparted important knowledge. For instance, the insanity label that was so easily applied to the young team was somehow inexact, not to mention unfair. Motormaster, for example, was a specialist in psychological torture and thus a very intelligent – and cruel – mech, not the kind one would easily call a nutcase despite his sadistic personality.

There wouldn't be a more fitting moment to illustrate the next entry in Reflector's guide:

**Rule number 7: Don't mouth off at your team leader, especially if he is a merciless murderer. **

Air Raid was beaten and dented and his paintjob was a shame, but it was easy to tell that, most of all, he was exhausted. It had to be Motormaster's strategy, wear him out in order to make him forget about his anger and his reluctance to be part of a combat strategy that didn't involve flying. That alone had to beat the seventeen times the Stunticons had repeated the same exercise.

As humans liked to say, Air Raid looked like a fish out of water, and not only because he had been forced to go against his nature and stay on the ground, but because of the thick manacles restraining his wings. That had been a cruel tactic from Motormaster, and one that yet had to be successful.

Viewfinder noted in his data banks that the eighteenth repetition of the practice started at 0328 hours, terrestrial time. It all went exactly like the previous seventeen times: Breakdown and Dead End attacked a supposedly distracted Drag Strip, luring him to the place where his ambusher was waiting.

And just as it had happened those previous seventeen times, the phony ambusher failed to attack the yellow race car that charged at him at full speed, so he ended up being rammed. Once again, Air Raid refused to do his part and remained faithful to his wings.

"I win _again_." Drag Strip transformed and assumed the stance of a winner. "Note it down, Breakdown."

Spyglass, who was located above Breakdown and Dead End, noticed that Breakdown typed something on a datapad and quickly returned it to subspace.

"It's not my intention to sound repetitive, but the exercise will keep failing if Air Raid insists in not engaging the enemy," Dead End said, as if he was talking to the scratch on his forearm. The three Reflector components agreed that Dead End was more concerned about that small cosmetic imperfection than about anything else.

"Who are you calling the enemy?" Drag Strip spat. "You're the enemy! You're playing the Autobot, Dead End!"

"Yes, Drag Strip, I'm playing the Autobot." Behind his visor, certainly Dead End rolled his optics.

Reflector had understood ever since the practice started that Drag Strip was the one assuming the role of an Autobot enemy, but obviously Dead End didn't feel like arguing with his teammate. Just as he never felt like doing anything but resting, polishing his paintjob and filling his processor with fatalistic ideas.

Both Stunticons shut it as soon as they saw their leader approaching from the back of the room. They had been punished many times that single day for far lesser things than arguing. Motormaster was a perfectionist and demanded the same from his teammates, but he would break his hands pummeling them before they performed as the elite Gestalt he wanted them to be.

Curiously, he hadn't disciplined Air Raid yet, despite the flier being the obvious weak link in the chain.

"Look, how many times do I have to tell you?" The ex-Aerialbot walked toward Motormaster with his arms extended. "Ground combat isn't my territory! I'm a flier! I was built to fight from the sky!"

"You're no Seeker," Drag Strip told him venomously.

Air Raid turned to him and shot him a dirty look. "I'm better than a Seeker."

"How so? Seekers are handsome; you're not."

Motormaster pushed Drag Strip aside and stood in front of Air Raid. There was no doubt that the Stunticon leader saw potential in his new subordinate. Maybe that was the reason he hadn't beaten Air Raid for his constant failures during the current practice.

"Are you offlined or just stupid?" Motormaster's voice was threatening, but he didn't get physical as Reflector was sure he would. Was that lack of violence simple patience, or was it hiding something? "Simple strategies are for simple-minded idiots, and that's why I'm ordering you to perform the simplest of them all. Do I need to lower our standards even more for your useless aft to fit in?"

Viewfinder couldn't tell what Air Raid hated more, being called an idiot or having to fit into a team he hated. Through the bond he shared with his fellow spark-mates, the Reflector component could sense Spyglass' uneasiness and Spectro's fear. If violence, _real_ violence happened between Motormaster and Air Raid, the Reflectors would be caught in the fire. And that wouldn't be friendly fire for sure.

It seemed that Air Raid would be happy to fulfill the expectation because he didn't back off from his leader's imposing presence. The aerial Stunticon stepped forward instead.

"I can succeed in any of your useless battle strategies, but you have to let me use my wings. This is humiliating! Crawling in the ground with my mech-hood tied at my back is not exactly my thing!"

Motormaster looked at the restrained appendices disdainfully. "I'm the one who says what your thing is. If I decide it's better to chop off your wings to make you follow simple instructions, then the fragging things will go down."

Air Raid was shocked, or at least that was what his face showed in the marvelous snapshot that Spectro took from his privileged position. Predictably, shock was followed immediately by anger.

"You may have beaten these idiots into submission and made them obey every one of your caprices, but you won't do it with me!" he said, pointing at his teammates. "I was beginning to respect you and even thought that your processor had some functional shells, but it seems that I was wrong. Shackling my wings is not the way to make me fit in the team. I'm no ground-pounder like you. I fight differently!"

Motormaster sneered. "I know exactly about the comedy act you call fighting. It has never impressed me." Obviously, the Stunticon leader was talking about the years in which his team had fought the Aerialbots, which was also the entire time both teams have been functional.

Reflector knew there were big egos in the Stunticon Gestalt, but at that moment, the only one standing out was the one that belonged to the new arrival.

"Oh, hasn't it?" Air Raid spat, his face going from rage to arrogance. "I could tell you at least thirty times in which I delivered each of your lackeys here their afts on a plate, including your royal , ugly rear bumper. Remember the time two missiles impacted your trailer and detonated the bomb you were carrying? Well, that was me."

Breakdown, Drag Strip and Dead End stepped back. Even the three Reflector components felt the need to do so. They knew about the incident Air Raid was talking about; the Constructicons had had to work two solar cycles to put Motormaster back together.

However, Motormaster didn't seem surprised, much less angry. He looked at Air Raid as if here were a clown from the Cosmic Carnival executing a very poor act. "Any coward can shoot a couple of missiles from a distance. A real warrior confronts his enemy face to face."

The former Aerialbot's features were a mask of rage. Reflector wondered if Silverbolt had ever been able to have that kind of effect on Air Raid. Even though the wayward flier had been his teammate only for a short time, Motormaster seemed to know exactly what buttons to push.

Air Raid advanced another step and pointed a finger at his leader's face, almost hitting him. "Remove these!" he yelled, the manacles clicking noisily at his back. "Remove them and I'll show you how real warriors fight!"

Motormaster snorted before turning his back on Air Raid. "Are you sure you are not still part of the loser team? I could've sworn you asked for help." He started to walk to the back of the room. "If you want the manacles removed, remove them yourself."

Air Raid narrowed his optics and lunged forward with his fists up. None of the Reflector triplets was surprised when the other three Stunticons stepped back even further.

"Take your positions," Motormaster ordered curtly, apparently not noticing that Air Raid's fist was close to impacting his head. "We'll start from the beginning."

For a moment, Reflector thought that the world had frozen. But no, Viewfinder was the first one to notice it hadn't been the world, just Air Raid. His fist stopped dead in the air, his aggressive intentions paralyzed with something that was perhaps a strange mixture of fear and respect – or maybe neither of them. Reflector couldn't tell what the slag was going on. Maybe it was Air Raid's restricted wings acting up, plus the absence of sky time that every flier needed desperately to keep functioning optimally. By depriving him of his natural element, Motormaster was forcing Air Raid to accept, even unwillingly, that his real freedom lay within his team.

All the Stunticons returned to their positions, Dead End dragging his feet and venting in a low voice how useless it was to practice battle strategies when death was an unavoidable outcome for them all. Breakdown followed him with the same lack of energy, but caused by fatigue rather than tedium. Only Drag Strip seemed somehow enthusiastic, although his fuel was his eternal lust for victory and not any improvement of his team's performance. Air Raid insisted on being the reluctant element, focused only on the impossible task of removing the manacles from his favorite appendices by himself.

The Reflector triplets shared a fast comm. Was it worth it to register the nineteenth practice of the day, considering that the previous eighteen had had almost the same result? A resounding NO circulated through their link, so the three small robots decided to keep their lenses quiet. One of the many disadvantages of their small size was the lack of storage space; they weren't going to keep filling their memory caches with useless data.

Still, once the Stunticons took their positions, Spyglass took a fast picture, realizing that, despite being separated in his individual components, that was a very accurate image of Menasor. There was no wonder the super robot hadn't succeeded in becoming the top Decepticon Gestalt if his body parts were so demoralized.

The exercise went predictably the same, with Breakdown, Drag Strip and Dead End doing their part, and Air Raid too busy fuming over the manacles to succeed in ambushing Drag Strip. The three Reflector components agreed that, in a real battle, such negligence would leave his teammates uncovered and easy targets for any Autobot sniper lurking around.

The triplets wondered about their prophetic nature when two flashes of intense light temporarily blinded them. Sparks flew in the most horrible way, ignited by the explosions that sent both Dead End and Breakdown to the floor.

Despite the courage he had been so stubborn in exhibiting since his arrival to the _Nemesis_, Air Raid fell on his aft, both confused and horrified. He must had been still wondering what the slag had happened when he saw Motormaster emerging from the fog and the flying pieces of burnt metal.

"Three astro-seconds late, two teammates terminated," the Stunticon leader said bluntly, his cyclone rifle still smoking in his hand.

Dead End and Breakdown were not terminated, of course, but they were badly wounded; Breakdown's arm was hanging from his frame and one of Dead End's legs was twisted in a very unnatural position.

"Wha… what did you do?" Air Raid managed to speak. "You almost killed them!"

Unlike everybody else in the room, Reflector included, Motormaster was the image of icy coldness. "_You_ almost killed them. You left them uncovered."

"I…" Air Raid mumbled, still too shocked to maintain his rebellious attitude. "I would have made it in time… but my wings…" He shuddered when he heard Breakdown doing his best to keep his cries of pain at a low volume.

Motormaster reached out and grabbed the infamous wing manacles, lifting Air Raid up as if he were a doll.

"Excuses are not weapons," he said gravely. "Excuses won't keep your teammates from being slagged in the battlefield. Remember it next time, because the Autobots won't aim only to incapacitate as I did."

Still cursing themselves for having missed the picture, the Reflector triplets zoomed in on Air Raid's face. It was blank, simply blank; not even a trace remained of his previous fury.

That was something Reflector could understand. Spyglass, Spectro and Viewfinder had their inner problems and fights sometimes, but never, ever, would the anger of one surpass the survival of the three. Air Raid could rant all that he wanted, but he was part of a Gestalt that was linked to him as his spark itself. He wouldn't allow his ego to endanger his teammates again. He had learned his lesson.

The teacher, still grabbing Air Raid by the manacles, broke them with a single twist of his thick fingers. Air Raid fell to the floor unceremoniously. At least for that moment, his lack of dignity didn't seem to trouble him. Important teachings were being delivered, and he was absorbing them all.

Motormaster waited for him to get up before backhanding him so brutally that he made Air Raid swing around twice before he crashed against the wall.

"Call your teammates 'lackeys' again and see if you can keep talking without a vocalizer." Then Motormaster turned to the rest of the Stunticons. Dead End was already up, holding his almost severed leg and hiding his pain behind his face mask – all Reflector components made a mental note: we should get one of those. Drag Strip seemed hesitant about helping Breakdown or not, but a severe look from his leader made him make up his mind and he hurried to assist.

"Lord Megatron has given us an assignment," Motormaster said coldly as his team picked up their pieces – literally, in the case of Dead End. "Get yourselves repaired and fueled. I want all of you in top conditions in one solar cycle, as we will find opposition." When he looked back at the still fallen Air Raid, the Stunticon leader's optics were full of malice. "Aerial opposition."

* * *

There was always a tidbit of nostalgia when the words "The End" surfaced. Whether they did it in a movie – it was a good thing that Reflector had brought his movie collection with him when leaving Cybertron – or in a good holo-book, it was always sad to see an enjoyable experience finishing.

It was particularly sad when the experience finishing was one's life itself, and that was exactly the kind of experience that Reflector – back again in his whole camera-self – would face if Motormaster caught him spying above his computer station. But it had to be done, otherwise Reflector would never obtain the information to write the final chapter of his guide. He had become so obsessed with finishing it, that the current risk was worth being taken.

He had never felt that nervous, not even when sneaking into the War Room to add to his 'What Megatron and Starscream do when they think nobody is looking' file. He knew that Motormaster wouldn't take kindly to the fact that his team was being used to write the ultimate, and soon to be destroyed , guide on how to be a perfect Decepticon. If Motormaster discovered him, Motormaster would simply kill him. Perhaps it would be fast, but also extremely painful. And Reflector didn't want to die; he wasn't ready to see the infamous 'The End' words just yet.

Fortunately, Motormaster didn't seem to be aware of the presence of a spy inside his own room. He had been sitting in front of his computer for the past four terrestrial hours, going over the strategy he would follow in the mission to come, and also analyzing the possibility of equipping his new subordinate with a force field. Reflector was no scientist, but he could tell that a force field wouldn't fit a flier because it could affect his maneuverability in the air. Motormaster seemed aware of that too, because he had tried several virtual variations to make it work without affecting Air Raid's combat capacities. With his point made and proven, there was no doubt that Motormaster planned to make good use of his new teammate's wings, especially now that he had made it clear that they were at the service of the entire team and not of the owner's ego.

Reflector had begun to think that he was going to be stuck in Motormaster's quarters until Primus knew when without getting any really useful images, when the panel on the door chimed, announcing that someone was requesting access.

Reflector wasn't familiar with Motormaster's everyday life by any means, but he was sure that the Stunticon leader receiving visitors wasn't a common thing. It had to be something important, so the hidden camera's lenses were aiming and ready in no time.

When the door hissed open and Air Raid appeared on the threshold, both Reflector's patience and anxiety were compensated. Had he been in his individual components, each one of them would have rubbed their hands.

Air Raid seemed hesitant about whether to enter the room or not. One quick look at his surroundings seemed to surprise him. Reflector had had exactly the same reaction, amazed by the lack of Autobot body parts on the wall and the sobriety of the feared Stunticon Commander's quarters. Aside from writing his guide, Reflector was also learning a lot about the Stunticons.

For example, he could predict that Air Raid would go straight to the point, without any need for greetings, preambles or fake courtesy.

"I don't want to fight the Aerialbots."

The words echoed through the room. Motormaster's hard countenance didn't change.

"I'm not ready…" Air Raid continued, daring to invite himself in.

"Ready?" Motormaster turned off his console and rotated his chair to face his teammate. "And when do you think you'll be _ready_?"

Nobody said the word 'never', but every mech in the room heard it.

Air Raid didn't have the strength to hold his leader's gaze and looked down. "I just… I can't…" He shook his head. "I mean, they will be there, you know it as much as I do. Slag, of course they will be there! Every time we… _they_ received a report of Stunticon activity, they made bets on who would be the first to get into battle… It was personal... Frag the war, frag the badges, all this time it has been personal!"

Reflector prepared for the fireworks, at least for some gray denting white, but Motormaster remained on his seat as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "Is that all?"

Air Raid grimaced, signaling his anguish. "I don't care about the other Autobots. I'll fight them beside you if that's what the team needs, but the Aerialbots… Don't make me fight them… please."

It had had to be very hard to say the P word. Considering the ex-Autobot's personality, Reflector didn't doubt that it was the first time he said it.

Motormaster's mouth was hidden by his massive fist. It was impossible to know if he was grimacing or smirking. He looked calm, but then again, it could be the calm before the storm. All Reflector knew was that it wouldn't end up good for the ex-Aerialbot. Certainly Air Raid was aware of that, but the torture of having to fight his former teammates had to be stronger than any fear or respect he had towards his new leader.

He raised his head and looked straight at Motormaster. "I won't do it. I won't fight them. Beat me up as much as you want, tear me apart… I don't care. This is one order I can't obey. I'll do anything else you tell me to do. I'll steal, I'll destroy… I'll do anything you 'Cons do, but I won't fight the Aerialbots. I can't. They were my team! You have to understand that."

Motormaster lowered his arm, showing a perfectly calm countenance. He got up from his chair slowly and walked forward. If he was about to burst into fury and violence, he didn't show it. If anything, his expression looked amused.

"You will fight the Aerialbots," he said, making it clear that he was not giving a command, but predicting the future. "And not because you want to, but because you _have_ to." He arrived in Air Raid's personal space and grabbed him by the back of his head. "It's personal, as you said, and it will always be. If you refuse, if you hesitate, your teammates will be destroyed. Your _real_ teammates."

By then, Air Raid's optics were pools of horror .

"The one Aerialbot you forgive is the one Aerialbot that will kill your brother. You know that, because you've longed for that killing shot since you were created, and you actually tried to deliver it to me when you shot at the bomb inside my trailer. How many of your former teammates would have died that day, if you hadn't stopped me?" Motormaster forced Air Raid's head even further towards him, their faces so close that they created a tense energy field. "Our teams will fight to the death, not because that's our destiny, but because we choose it to be. Some cowards like to say that we were forced into a war that doesn't belong to us, and that's where they are wrong. We were built to fight a war, but we chose our enemies. We chose the Aerialbots, and you, as everybody else in this team, have chosen them as well, because each one of them is a potential assassin to your teammates."

Air Raid tried to speak, but he couldn't. His lip components were trembling—whether out of fear or trying to formulate words, it didn't matter. Reflector's powerful lenses could see through his optics. There was nothing there but void.

And defeat too. Every word that Motormaster had said had sunk deeply in his processor. That's how truth operated.

Motormaster was right. Air Raid's personal feelings didn't matter. The preservation of the team he belonged to was his primary directive, and that was above anything he loved or held sacred. It could be considered cruel, but it was the basis in which every combiner team was forged. A Gestalt super robot needed all its components to become one. Menasor had just put his feet on the ground and nobody, not even Motormaster himself, could go against his wishes.

Air Raid remained silent, but that said much more than a thousand words, each one of them a stab to his own spark.

Motormaster released him and nodded. Definitely the Stunticon leader saw a lot of potential in his new recruit, but he would still make sure to go step by step through the molding process.

"Air Raid."

The drone that was walking toward the door was certainly not the same bot who had entered the room, but still he stopped and turned around when he heard his leader calling his name.

"Since it's your first real battle as a Stunticon, you will prove yourself to me. When we return from the battlefield, you will have a present for me." Motormaster turned around and stared at the back wall, which looked barer than ever. "I want wings. Aerialbot wings."

From his hiding spot, the three Reflector components smirked, even in their camera mode. Finally, there it was, the most important rule of all, the one that truly defined a Decepticon as such:

**Rule number 8: Kill an Autobot. **

_To be continued._

* * *

_When Reflector says that he had barely used his – their – individual names a miserable half a million times during his life, I'm aware that it's a huge amount of times. But I thought that, considering that most of the Transformers we saw in the G1 cartoon were millions of year old, a number such as 500, 000 wouldn't mean the same to them as it means to us. I always try to put myself on the shoes of the character when writing from their point of view but, as it happens generally when writing a fictional character created by someone else, this is very relative._

_I took some other liberties with the Reflector triplets. If you noticed, I stated more than once that if one of them died, the other two would be terminated as well. This is not official whatsoever, but just something I added in order to make their comparison with combiner teams more interesting._

_The incident that Air Raid mentions, in which he detonated a bomb inside Motormaster's trailer, didn't happen in any episode or comic. I just thought that Stunticons and Aerialbots must have had plenty of very bloody battles during the time they have been active, thus creating the raw enmity that has made this member exchange even weirder than it should have been._

_Does anybody remember the Cosmic Carnival from the Marvel comics? Yeah, that's the one Motormaster thought about. He has never been there, but I thought he would know about it since it was universally famous._

_As for the 'What Megatron and Starscream do when they think nobody is looking' file… I guess we all can guess what it's all about :oP But yeah, we would kill to see the pictures! I know I would do._

_Well, I hope you enjoyed Reflector's guide – enjoy it while it lasts, because he will destroy it to make sure nobody will know about its existence, as he does with everything he writes that could be considered treacherous. Now you know what to do if you want to become a Decepticon, although I wouldn't recommend it. In our case, I would add a very important rule: DON'T be human._

_So a battle is coming… Make your bets, everyone, because it seems that the new Stunticons are ready to face the new Aerialbots. The possibilities are endless! _

_And endless is precisely what I don't want these notes to be… Stay tuned for the next chapter and please let me know your opinions._


End file.
